


To Hold a Flaming Sword

by ProfessorFrankly



Series: Earth's Sentinel and First Guide [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Angels and demons have no gender, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Other, Rough Trade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24524905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorFrankly/pseuds/ProfessorFrankly
Summary: The world didn’t end, and in the wake of the Apocawhoops, Aziraphale Changed. Together with Crowley, his Guide, the Sentinel of Earth has been charged with its protection. Too bad Aziraphale knows almost nothing about how this Sentinel business works, and even more upsetting, once he gets past the rush of bonding with him, is the knowledge that Crowley kept his status a secret from Aziraphale for 6,000 years. Looks like the pair might be in for a Hell--er, Heaven--er, well, some kind of a ride, anyway.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Earth's Sentinel and First Guide [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772335
Comments: 3
Kudos: 70
Collections: Rough Trade Presents: The Year of the Sentinel - 2020





	To Hold a Flaming Sword

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the April 2020 Rough Trade challenge, which focused on established relationships in a Sentinel/Guide universe. I wondered what might happen in the wake of the Apocanope if Crowley and Aziraphale lived on an Earth with Sentinels and Guides, and this is what happened. As someone who is, late in life, finally identifying correctly as gender fluid, I had a lot of fun writing it. The prequel is "...And on the Eighth Day," which should be number one in this series. I have no idea whether I'll return to this world specifically, but I adore the ineffable husbands, so I wouldn't rule it out.

**Part 1**

Crowley stretched his long, lanky limbs, reveling in the feel of vertebrae in his corporation popping all the way up to the base of his neck.

“That sounded terrible,” Aziraphale said, curled up against him lazily.

“Felt good, though.” Crowley stroked Aziraphale’s shoulder softly. “How do you feel, then?”

One cerulean blue eye popped open. “Incredibly well used.”

Crowley laughed. “Bonding drive over?”

“Perhaps,” Aziraphale conceded as he uncurled himself and sat up, as naked as Crowley himself. “I’m not currently overcome with a need to physically imprint on you any longer.”

“Ah, well, good, I guess,” Crowley said. He paused. “Does that mean you won’t want to any more?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “I don’t think I said that.”

“It’s just that I’ve never known you to indulge in the carnal before, angel,” Crowley continued, cautious but hopeful.

“Well, I could never have you, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “It did put a damper on any libido I might have had.”

Crowley melted internally. “Ah.” 

Aziraphale stretched lazily himself, displaying a corporation that featured some middle-aged softness around the middle and a truly magnificent cock. Crowley bit his lip at the sight. He still sported a vulva, for convenience’s sake, as gender truly didn’t matter to him. He tended to present whatever would work best for the situation, or the temptation. While it was true that he generally presented male, there were times when the female form made more sense. Such as when one wanted him to nanny for the Antichrist.

“Of course,” Aziraphale continued, “had I known that you were, in fact, made for me, that might have changed things, a bit. I wouldn’t have been panicking every time we were seen together, for one. I might have known our partnership was part of the ineffable plan, and let certain things go. But of course, I didn’t know, did I?”

Crowley winced a little, then sat up himself and turned to straddle his angel’s lap. “I wasn’t sure what I could tell you, Angel,” he said. “And honestly, I was pretty angry with our Mother at the whole falling thing.”

Aziraphale readily put his arms around his demon. His Guide. “I am trying to remember that while I didn’t know what we could be to each other, you did, and that it was likely painful to not have it.”

Six thousand years of pining. Yes, alright, Crowley found that painful, yes. “It did pose a challenge,” he allowed, slithering against Aziraphale’s skin in a way that brought to mind his serpent form. “Thinking, when I met you, that she’d finally made my Sentinel and put him on earth as my enemy? And that you weren’t even online? I had many, many rants in her general direction on the subject.”

Aziraphale smiled a little. “I imagine you did.” He tightened his grip. The slithering was doing lovely things for his libido. “I also imagine I would have had difficulty listening to you, even had you made the attempt to tell me. Things in Heaven, after the War, were not conducive, at all, to Questions. You were my enemy, and that was that. Imagine how I felt, realizing that though you were, and are, a demon, you have more goodness in your little pinky than Gabriel apparently has in his entire body.”

Giggles shook Crowley’s body, even as he mumbled into Aziraphale’s hair. “‘M not. Good.”

“You are,” Aziraphale insisted. “I never understood why you fell.”

“Ah, well, Mother and I had a disagreement,” Crowley said bitterly. “She gave me empathy, and got angry when I questioned her choices to let her creations suffer. So down I went. I couldn’t do otherwise. Not under those circumstances.”

“I suppose not,” Aziraphale said quietly, rubbing his demon’s back. Crowley had slumped against him, burying his nose at the angel’s throat. “I am sorry you had to go through that, my dear.”

Crowley kept his eyes closed and his nose buried as he mumbled, “I’m sorry I never told you.”

Aziraphale cuddled him close and closed his own eyes. “Well, I forgive you. It was clearly part of your divine punishment, the never knowing. Just as my journey to this point was apparently…”

“Please don’t say it,” Crowley begged.

“Ineffable.”

“You bastard,” Crowley whispered, lips moving against the angel’s throat.

“Your bastard,” Aziraphale whispered back, and rolled, putting Crowley on his back so that he could bury his head between the demon’s thighs again.

…

Some time later, sated, lying on the soft grass of their new Eden, Crowley mumbled out, “Not a complaint, but a curiosity: have you always presented as male?”

“Ah, well, there’s been a time or two when a female form was more appropriate, but on the whole, I prefer a male form,” Aziraphale admitted. “It’s comfortable. I know you’re a bit more… fluid?”

“I think the humans are calling it genderfluid,” Crowley said. “Which you know, as your shop stands in the heart of Soho, calling to the LGBTQA community like a beacon.”

Aziraphale preened a bit. “It does have a bit of a reputation, yes.”

“An earned one,” Crowley said. “I do believe you’re known in the neighborhood as their very gay leader.”

“Do stop, you’re embarrassing me,” Aziraphale said, blushing a bit.

“Fine, angel, I’ll stop. But I do admit I’d like to know if you consider yourself gay?”

“Angels have no gender, therefore no particular sexual orientation,” Aziraphale said slowly. “I believe love comes in all forms, and that all love should be celebrated. Personally, I prefer to present male, as I said, but as a sexual being? Frankly, it comes down to personality, for me. I’m Crowley-sexual.” He cleared his throat. “Always have been.”

Crowley kissed him, a deep, thorough affair, with lots of tongue.

When they surfaced, Crowley sighed deeply. “I just wondered, as you certainly know your way around my female bits.”

Aziraphale laughed before sobering a little. “I do own a bookshop, you know. I read.”

“Ooooo, Angel. You holding out on me? Do you have pornography stashed about?” Crowley made obscene gestures with his hands, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes. 

“I have a lovely illustrated copy of the _Joy of Sex_ , and the _Joy of Gay Sex_ , thank you. And, well.”

Crowley sat up again. “Well, what, angel? I sense a salacious story.”

Aziraphale blushed rosily. “I may have gotten some hands-on experience, for educational purposes, you know.”

“When was this?” Crowley asked, quickly, then stilled. “It was Wilde, wasn’t it?”

“Perhaps,” Aziraphale said coyly. “He was perfectly lovely. As was his wife.”

“Angel, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Yes, well, I did, actually. Many times. It was delightful,” Aziraphale said primly, then softened. “But it wasn’t you.”

“Is that something you’d like, then?” Crowley said, rolling over Aziraphale, caging him in with hands and knees. “Would you like me to manifest a cock and fuck you into this Eden we’ve created?”

“Oh, yes, please.”  
With a thought, Crowley switched out his genitalia, and reached down to stroke his long, slim cock with a hand. “When was the last time you did this, angel?”

“More than a century ago, now,” Aziraphale said quietly, tugging Crowley down for another kiss. He ended the kiss, reluctantly. “It was during your long nap, when we weren’t speaking.”

“Ah,” Crowley said, and knelt up, straddling Aziraphale’s legs. “Well, then. Let’s see if we can make a new memory for you.”

He drew away, then spread Aziraphale’s legs, bending his knees slightly to give Crowley room to work. With miracle-slickened fingers, Crowley reached between his angel’s cheeks to stroke the furled skin of his hole, softening it until he could slip one slim finger in. Aziraphale made a soft sound, and Crowley looked up at his face. “Good sound?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Aziraphale sighed, and Crowley grinned. 

He worked the hole for a moment before adding a second finger, then a third, as Aziraphale made more of those delightful noises. Crowley purposely brushed over the angel’s prostate several times, making him moan, then kissed the top of his flushed cock before leaning back. “Like this, love?” he asked softly. “Or do you want your hands and knees?”

“Kiss me, please,” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley complied, offering him a sweet, soft kiss. “Hands and knees.”

Crowley sat all the way back and let Aziraphale move into position before draping himself over his love’s back. “Here, love,” he whispered. “I’ll give you what you need, now.” He pressed himself into Aziraphale, letting his eyes roll back in his head at the sensation of all that divine heat squeezing him. “Oh, angel. I can’t believe you’re letting me do this.”

“Crowley, dear,” Aziraphale croaked, overcome. “ _Move.”_

Crowley snapped his hips forward, and the pair lost themselves to the sensations. Crowley moved one hand from Aziraphale’s hip to the center of his back, between the shoulder blades where the angel’s wings would manifest. Some instinct he hadn’t known he possessed coaxed him to press that spot. Aziraphale howled, and he came as his wings erupted from his back, coaxing Crowley to climax as his own wings popped out.

In a flutter feathers, Crowley sank down on top of Aziraphale, burying his face in the wings. As their feathers touched, Crowley keened, Aziraphale groaned, and they both came again.

“Holy …” Crowley panted, trying to lift his wings off of Aziraphale and failing miserably. “What…”

Aziraphale could not reply, but lowered himself down and spread his wings to more fully touch Crowley’s. He reached behind to drag the demon further on top of them as they shuddered, again, the sensation of their divine essences intertwining too much.

Later, Crowley could only consider that they needed to imprint a sixth sense--their divinity--and their wings manifesting made it possible to do so. But in the moment, all he could do was hold on to Aziraphale through the experience.

…

Crowley wasn’t sure how much time had passed, and he was definitely certain he’d lost consciousness along the way at some point. His wings were folded back into their place on the divine plane, and Aziraphale had put his own wings away. He’d turned back around, and was now holding Crowley, who rested his cheek against the angel’s chest.

“So,” Crowley mumbled. “That happened.”

He became aware of the rumbles under his cheek that meant the angel was laughing.

“What?”

“Clever serpent,” Aziraphale managed to get out. “Finding the way we could bond even more thoroughly.”

“Din’t do it on purpose, angel,” Crowley said. “‘Twas instinct.” He was still slurring a little.

“Well, I think that’s what we needed, then, love,” Aziraphale said. “Thoroughly entwined in all conceivable ways. I feel quite content, now. How about you?”

Crowley took stock. His body felt pleasantly used. But more than that, he appeared to actually have some Grace, which shocked him. But it also made him feel whole. And as Aziraphale said, content. 

“I believe you’re right, Angel,” Crowley said. “Though I’m curious now. I appear to have some Grace.”

Aziraphale smiled gently at him. “It’s mine. Well, part of it. Apparently as a divine Sentinel I had more than I needed, presumably to share with my Guide. All part of the…”

“Don’t say it!” Crowley hissed.

“Ineffable plan.” Aziraphale looked smug. Crowley made a face at him, then moved to get up.

He looked around the once-barren plain that had held the original Eden, and saw that it was lush. “And it was good,” he murmured, seeing the verdant fruit trees and wide variety of flowering plants. “Such a beautiful place.”

Aziraphale got up and stood behind him, wrapping arms around Crowley’s slim waist. “For us to share, I think.”

“Yes,” Crowley said. “But for now, let’s just …” He raised his hands, and Aziraphale closed his eyes to lend him Grace should he need it. 

From the sands surrounding their new Eden, walls rose to encircle the garden. When they reached their former impressive height, Crowley lowered his hands. “We won’t keep anyone out, will we?”

“No,” Aziraphale said, kissing the back of Crowley’s neck. “All will be welcome who wish it. But for now, we need to protect the space. Well done, my dear.”

Crowley turned in his arms and put his own arms around Azirphale’s neck to kiss him. “Back to London, then?” 

Aziraphale looked down between them, at the cocks that were barely touching. “Perhaps some clothes?”

“Right,” Crowley said, and snapped his fingers. His own rangy frame became clad in black and gray, while Aziraphale wore a modern camel-colored suit with a sky blue waistcoat and crisp white shirt. In one hand, Crowley held a tartan bow tie. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Aziraphale looked at the tie, and then smiled at Crowley. “Do you know, I believe I’m ready to go without the tie?”

Crowley looked stunned, as Aziraphale plucked the tie out of his hands and tied it around Crowley’s bare neck. He stepped back and unbuttoned his own top button, letting a bit of skin peek through.

“Marking me?” Crowley croaked.

Aziraphale shrugged. “In my way. Do you mind?”

Crowley thought about it. He looked at the lush green space they’d created, and looked up at his longed-for Sentinel. “Nope.” He took Aziraphale’s hand. “Fly you to London?”

Aziraphale raised Crowley’s hand to his lips. “Yes, let’s go.”

**Part 2**

Crowley smirked at the site of his Bentley, covered in parking citations and booted as well, parked illegally in front of A. Z. Fell & Co. He snapped his fingers, and she was swept clean.

“There’s my baby,” he murmured, running his hands along her hood. “I missed you.”

Aziraphale chuckled as he went up the short two steps to his own front door and opened it. They’d entirely forgotten to lock or ward the space when Aziraphale chased Crowley out in a bonding rush, so he’d had to cross his fingers that all was well inside.

Well.

As well as it ever was, anyway.

The feeling of home, and love, and comfort swept over him as he walked in and surveyed his space, to his great surprise. He hadn’t realized that his bookshop had developed its own sentience. He patted the wall. “There, my dear, we’ve returned. I’ll be putting the kettle on while Crowley pets his Bentley. Any trouble while we were away?”

He smiled as he received an image of a flustered-looking Archangel Gabriel charging in to find nothing. “I see. Thank you. No one made off with any of the books?”

The wave of indignation that caused made him chuckle. “No, no, of course not. I only had to ask. It’s a pleasure to meet and know you, finally,” Aziraphale said, patting again. 

He went to his back room to put the kettle on as Crowley sauntered in. “Well, that’s new,” he muttered. “Hello, shop. Nice to meet you.”

“Do you suppose it’s been coming for a while?” Aziraphale called out as he waited for the kettle to boil.

“I couldn’t say, really,” Crowley said. “I’ve always felt more love and comfort here, angel, but I thought it was just being in your presence that made it so. It makes sense to me that the shop would have absorbed all that lovely divine energy on its own.”

Aziraphale brought out a full tea service and set it up next to the well-loved sofa. “It’s lovely, anyway,” he said. “Tea? And I’ve got some of those biscuits you like. Do you know, I’m quite hungry.”

“Not surprising, considering the last week.” Crowley smirked as he picked up his tea and a jam-filled vanilla biscuit to dip into it.

“I suppose not,” Aziraphale said, taking a biscuit of his own.

They made short work of the tea and biscuits, saying little as they refueled. While it was true that angels and demons had no need to eat, neither was entirely sure what they’d become. And, at any rate, they were quite used to eating in times of distress. Crowley was fairly certain that Aziraphale invented tea-time.

“Tea-time one of yours, then?” he asked suddenly.

Aziraphale looked up and blushed a little. “As it happens. It’s just rather nice to sit down in the late afternoon with a cuppa and a bit of something.”

Crowley finished his tea, set his cup down, and sat back, sprawling on the sofa like the snake he sometimes was. “Suppose, then, it’s time for a conversation.”

“Probably so,” Aziraphale said, finishing his own cup and setting it down. He got up from his arm chair and patted Crowley’s legs to get him to move up a bit. Crowley complied, and Aziraphale sat on the opposite end of the sofa, dragging his Guide’s legs over his. “There we are. Cozy and ready to chat.”

“Going to rub my feet, too,” Crowley asked a little snarkily.

“If you’d like,” Aziraphale said, shifting Crowley’s boots off his narrow feet. “I’ve waited millennia for the opportunity to be lover-like with you, and I plan to enjoy every moment of it.”

“Don’t let me stop you, then,” Crowley said, wiggling his toes.

Aziraphale giggled, but gently began rubbing the serpent’s feet. “Now, then. A discussion, you said?”

“Yes, well.” Crowley stretched into the feeling. “I’ll give you a millenia to stop that ...oh. That feels good.”

“Stay focused, my dear,” Aziraphale said.

“Right, right. A discussion. What do you make of our Mother essentially handing you Earth to watch, then buggering off?”

Aziraphale continued to rub Crowley’s feet, methodically. “I’m not entirely certain what to make of it, to be honest,” he admitted. “I do think this was part of her plan all along. Can you imagine the me of six thousand years ago being capable of defying Heaven to protect humanity?”

Crowley snorted.

“As I thought.” Aziraphale took the snort as confirmation. “You must have been flummoxed to find that I was your Sentinel.”

Crowley waved his hand in the air, wiggling it from side to side to indicate a “perhaps.” “I knew you were different, of course,” Crowley said. “You gave your flaming sword away.”

“Yes, Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, gave his flaming sword to Adam to protect his pregnant wife as they were both booted from the only safety they’d ever known.” Aziraphale’s tone was rife with sarcasm. “Defied Heaven, lied to God about it, and failed to do more to protect the new humans. Really a stunning accomplishment. Certainly worthy of note.”

Crowley sat up hastily. “Angel, you need to let that go. I know you were in a hard place. But despite the pressure from Heaven--from Gabriel and his lot, the bastard--you did give that sword away. You showed compassion. You offered love. You did the right thing. In that time and in that place, you couldn’t have risked anything more. Who else would have protected them?”  
“You,” Aziraphale said quietly. “You were always there for the humans.”

Crowley snorted. “I was tasked to go up and cause some trouble. Lucifer himself sent me above. Didn’t want competition for the throne, I think.” 

“And you would have been?” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.

“I am the demon formerly known as the Archangel Raphael, Healer,” Crowley reminded him. “So, yes, I could have. I just didn’t want to. I didn’t even want to have fallen, really. I just truly believed that Mother shouldn’t let her creations suffer. She had no reason to be deliberately cruel just to enforce her will. And really, my questions were her fault, too, if you think about it. She gave me empathy. She made me a guide, and a healer. I am what she made me.”

Aziraphale paused in his rubbing. “As am I, I suppose.” He fell silent for a moment, then shook his head. “A guardian who gave his weapon away.”

“Because it could only be raised in defense of humanity, and you were not truly allowed to protect humanity at the time, angel,” Crowley said. “You showed me right then that you had it in you to be the protector of humanity.”

“And yet.” Aziraphale resumed his rubbing. “And yet, I was a terrible protector.”  
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, angel.” Crowley wiggled closer so that his angel could get to his calves, too. “Even before the Arrangement, you counted on me to do what you couldn’t.”

Aziraphale worked his way up Crowley’s calves. “Oh, did I?” he asked airily.

“The Ark, angel.”

“What about the Ark, serpent?” 

“You know very well that you could have done Heaven’s bidding and watched all but Noah’s family be killed in that flood, and instead, you sent for me,” Crowley said. “Don’t think I didn’t notice all those, ‘come help me demon,’ thoughts you were sending out. Why do you think I showed up? I was actually on the other side of China at the time.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aziraphale said automatically.

“I’m equally sure you do,” Crowley hissed lowly. “And I’m not mad about it. It’s part of why I thought the Arrangement might work. And I was able to rescue a number of kids from the flood, as you know. Even if you pretended not to see.”

Aziraphale said absolutely nothing, but looked at Crowley with a fond expression.

“I did hope, for a moment, that the Flood would bring you online,” Crowley added wistfully. “I didn’t know what kind of event it would take for you to throw down and surrender to the Sentinel in you, but that seemed like a big possibility.”

“Apparently, it took the end of the world,” Aziraphale said calmly. “And six thousand years of my Guide in my ear to help me see.”

“Ah, well,” Crowley said dismissively. “I think, personally, it was probably the sushi.”

“Oh, stop.” Aziraphale blushed deeply.

“Or perhaps the crepes. Oh, crepes. Let’s go get lunch, angel.” Crowley hopped up, noticed he was barefoot, and snapped his fingers. His boots back on, he held a hand out to Aziraphale. “I think a table at the Ritz just opened up.”

Aziraphale let himself be hauled to his feet. “Fine, then. But do let’s take the Bentley. I’m in the mood for some of your bebop.”

“Angel, I’ve told you,” Crowley said, steering his Sentinel out the door. “Absolutely no one calls it bebop. It’s Queen, and I swear to Freddie I will teach you the difference even if it kills me.”

…

The Bentley obligingly played “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” as it sped them to their destination, Crowley humming along and Aziraphale grinning widely at him, one hand on Crowley’s thigh. They arrived at The Ritz in good time, and were immediately given a corner table with an excellent view of the dining room.

“Oh, very nice,” Crowley said. “We can people-watch.”

“I’d rather watch you,” Aziraphale said quietly, and beckoned their server. “A bottle of your best vintage champagne, please; we’re celebrating our bonding.”

“Congratulations, Mr. Fell; Mr. Crowley,” the server said with a smile. “I will see to it.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said.

Behind his customary shades, Crowley could see the server drop the elegant, mannered act as he reached the kitchen, and he watched as Aziraphale blushed to whatever he heard from the excited staff.

“I’m starting to think we come here too often, angel,” Crowley said quietly. “They’re noticing us.”

“Well, is that such a bad thing?” Aziraphale asked archly. “We’ve been joined together by the Almighty herself, so I hardly think we need worry about Heaven and Hell any longer.”

“The humans do look excited, though.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Aziraphale said, smiling softly as their server approached with a chilled bottle of The Ritz Reserve Brut and two glasses.

“Compliments of the house, gentlemen, to celebrate the occasion,” he said, presenting the bottle. 

“Delightful,” Aziraphale said. “Perhaps some strawberries?”

“Of course,” their server said as he expertly popped the cork. “A tray is being prepared now. May I recommend the Epicurean menu for today?”

“You may,” Aziraphale said. “Thank you.”

“Very good, gentlemen,” the server said, and elegantly wandered back to the kitchen, only to scurry to the chef. Aziraphale clearly listened to the excited conversation and got a little excited, himself.

“Oh, we’re in for a treat, my love,” he said, “the chef has been dying to serve me some lovely little tidbits and we’ve just given him the opportunity.”

Crowley laughed and took the angel’s hand. 

They ate their way through five courses of lovely nibbles, and they drank their way through two bottles of champagne. Aziraphale suggested cognac for afters, and the pair were comfortably reminiscing about other cognacs they’d enjoyed over the years when they became aware of a scuffle at the front of the restaurant.

“Can you hear what’s happening?” Crowley asked, vaguely interested. He could sense anger, defiance, indignation, and a weird sense of love. _Oh_ , he thought _. Someone’s got a stalker. Obsessive love._

Crowley registered that his Sentinel had gently tightened his grip on Crowley’s hand. “Apparently,” Aziraphale said, “that man is looking for me.”

“For you?” Crowley sharpened his senses and reached out. “Oh, for... Angel, you’re apparently radiating divine love and energy on the psionic plane, and it’s convinced this dormant Guide that you’re his.”

“Dormant?” Aziraphale echoed. “What’s that?”

“A Guide that can’t come online,” Crowley said briefly. “Usually but not always due to some kind of trauma. They literally can’t handle the empathic abilities they could be given, so I ensured--oh, millennia ago now--any who had the potential, but to whom it would be harmful, would lay dormant. I keep an eye on them, generally, but I’ve never had cause or reason to change my mind about it. And I’d be cautious, love. This one’s obsessed with you. Or any Sentinel, really, that he thinks might be able to bring him online.”

“Poor man,” Aziraphale said. “I begin to think my education on Sentinel and Guide matters is lacking.”

“I’m sure it is,” Crowley said. “Heaven wouldn’t want to distract you from their work, after all. I’ve been Earth’s Guide since the beginning, and I had reason to keep you in the dark.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes briefly. “We’re going to have to have another conversation, aren’t we?”

“Probably more than one, if I’m honest,” Crowley said. “And I can be, now.”

The noise of the scuffle grew louder. “For goodness sake,” Aziraphale huffed. “Can you go and fix him, please?”

“Fix him? Fix him, how?” Crowley looked at Aziraphale curiously.

“Well, firstly, he should know that I am _not_ his, and secondly, he should learn to let go of his obsessive need to be a Guide,” the angel said briskly. “I could just miracle him away, but that doesn’t seem fair.”

“Or ethical, for Earth’s Sentinel,” Crowley agreed. He tapped his glasses. “Right.” He stood up to go to the front, but turned back. “And you, you work on dimming the celestial light on the psionic plane, will you?”

“And how am I meant to do that?” Aziraphale asked archly.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Right. Training. We’ll have to get right on that.” He strolled away, and Aziraphale finished his cognac.

Crowley took the distressed man to the side, directed to a side parlor by Ritz staff. There, he reached into the dormant Guide’s mindscape and tempered it, removing the obsessive love that had him seeking out Aziraphale and “suggesting” he’d rather not be a Guide, after all. It wasn’t hard, but it drew him some strange looks.

“Uh, you know that most people can’t do stuff like that?” one bystander, a low-level Guide, said quietly. “You could get into real trouble with the Alpha primes if you go around meddling with people’s minds.”

“I think you’ll find that my Guide stands outside such hierarchies,” Aziraphale said as he came up to the small grouping. The same side parlor off the main hotel entrance now hosted Crowley, the dormant Guide, and the online Guide, who was trying to be helpful. “As do I. We do thank you for your help, however.”

“Yeah, sure.” The online Guide looked a little dazed. “Whatever you say, Sentinel. Say, do you need another Guide? I’m sure I could …”

“And that’s my cue,” Crowley said, giving the man a suggestion that he needed a nap.

He made a mental note to ensure that the young man find his own Sentinel as soon as possible, to prevent another stalker situation.

“We’re going to need to go,” he told Aziraphale quietly. “I clearly didn’t understand how like catnip you’d be to these human Guides.”

Aziraphale shook his head bemusedly. “Well, let’s be off, then. I took care of the bill on my way here.”

With a deft miracle to keep them from being noticed, Crowley hustled his Sentinel out to the Bentley. They got in, and Crowley squealed away as the quiet strains of Beethoven’s “Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy” filled the silence.

“Catnip, you say?” Aziraphale asked.

“Quite,” Crowley said, trying not to pout. Six thousand years he’d waited for his Sentinel, and by Someone he was not going to put up with human Guides trying to eke in on his territory.

Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s thigh. “Pull over, my dear.”

Crowley heaved the car left, screeching through cars to come to a stop at the curb. “What?”

“Put it in park, dearheart.”

Crowley complied. Aziraphale then reached over and dragged Crowley over the gearshift to straddle his lap, before pulling him into a deep, messy kiss.

The Bentley’s windows had fogged, and the music had moved on to Queen’s original “Love of my Life” before they broke apart. Not needing air was handy, upon occasion.

“ _Mine,”_ Aziraphale said firmly. “My Guide.”

Crowley made a sound in the back of his throat and slumped into his Sentinel, nose to neck. Aziraphale stroked his back, waiting.

“ _Mine,”_ Crowley said, finally and quietly. “My Sentinel.”

“That’s right,” Aziraphale said. “We have waited too long to be together to let humans come between us, my dear. Be assured of my affection, please.”

“I’ll try,” Crowley said, fully understanding how difficult it might be to really internalize the knowledge that he was finally, finally, with Aziraphale.

“Now as to the matter of my being ‘catnip’ to human Guides, do you think this is true of all of them? Or just the unbonded?” Aziraphale asked briskly. 

Crowley reluctantly sat up. “I’m not sure. We could go to the local SGC and do some testing, or we could go with trial and error.”

“What’s an SGC?” Aziraphale asked.

“Sentinel and Guide Center. You really haven’t been paying attention, have you?” Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s forehead and moved over to sit in the driver’s seat again. He started it up as the last notes of “Love of My Life” faded. “Let’s head to the bookshop and I’ll give you a crash course.”

“If you insist,” Aziraphale said. “Though I’d thought maybe we could head to your flat? I’m sure your plants need attention.”

“The plants will be lovely if they know what’s good for them,” Crowley hissed. Aziraphale said nothing, only raising an eyebrow before Crowley caved. “Fine, let’s go check on my plants.”

Apparently, he wouldn’t be breaking the six-thousand year habit of essentially doing whatever Aziraphale thought needed doing. Though, to be fair, if he’d pushed it, the angel would have let it go.

It didn’t occur to him that Aziraphale might have had an ulterior motive until he was in his flat, being steered quite urgently toward his bedroom. 

“Er, angel?” Crowley asked. “The plants?”

“Forget the plants, Crowley,” Aziraphale growled. “I need you.”

“Ah, right. Well, then.” He started stripping off his clothes the human way, leaving pieces on the floor as he made his way to his large, comfortable bed. “I suppose doing this on a bed would be novel.”

He crawled, naked, over his luxurious black satin duvet, and sprawled himself out in the exact center of the bed, crossing his arms behind his neck. “What do you have in mind, Sentinel?”

Aziraphale had shed his own garments, and was absently stroking his cock. “I think I’d like you in me again, if you’re amenable.”

“If I’m amenable, he wants to know,” Crowley gestured to his own cock, hard and straining toward his belly. “If you’d like to take a ride, I’m willing.”

Aziraphale let go of his cock and strode toward the bed, confidently climbing up on it and straddling Crowley’s hips. “Not too much weight for you?” he asked.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Demon, here. I can take whatever you’ve got.”

“How about my love?” Aziraphale snapped his fingers to loosen and slicken his hole, and lined Crowley’s cock up. He sank down on it without waiting for Crowley’s reply.

Just as well, as he couldn’t speak for a moment anyway. The sensation of being in his angel would never, never get old.

For a moment, Aziraphale just sat there, adjusting, making tiny movements with his hips to open himself up further. “I do, you know,” he murmured, working himself. “I love you a ridiculous amount. I loved you in Eden, that same love that all angels should have for every living thing. I loved you in Rome, when you let me tempt you with oysters. I loved you in the Bastille, when you rescued me from my own foolishness. And when you rescued me from the Nazis, and saved my books, I knew I could deny it no longer. I loved you deeply, romantically, and as no angel should love a demon.”

Crowley took hold of Aziraphale’s hips and rolled them over, putting the angel on his back and managing to stay seated inside. “I have loved you from Eden, Aziraphale, which was enlightening. No demon should be able to love, but I do. And you are mine, you know.” He drew back and thrust back in, hard. “Mine to love, mine to care for. My Sentinel. My life.”

The talking stopped, then, as the couple moved together. Crowley popped his wings as he climaxed, and with a hurried stroke to Aziraphale’s cock, the angel came, too, wings extending gently as he did so.

Crowley lay on his sentinel’s chest, wings extended, and shuddered through the aftershocks as their wings caressed each other. “That’s so nice,” he hissed.

“It is, isn’t it?” Aziraphale agreed, stroking Crowley’s sides. “I could lay with you here forever.”

“In my bed?” Crowley mumbled.

“I don’t have one of my own,” Aziraphale admitted. “I rarely sleep. And, anyway, I’ve wanted to be just here for a very long time.”

Crowley put his wings away and sat up a little, resting his chin on his hands, which were folded on Aziraphale’s chest. “How long?”

“Since I knew I wanted you in this way? Oh, centuries. Since I knew it was love as well as lust?” Aziraphale steeled himself. “1941.” He bit his lip. “I’ve been unbearably slow, haven’t I?”

“I hate myself for saying this, you know,” Crowley said, “but I think it was probably all part of the…”

Together, they chorused, “Ineffable plan.” Aziraphale giggled, then sobered.

“That doesn’t negate the hurt I must have caused you, though, dearest,” he said.

Crowley shrugged it off and sat up. “It’s over now, right?”

“Yes, you’ve got me. I’ve got you. And I’ll remind you of that any way you’d like, whenever you need it,” Aziraphale said, eyes fixed lovingly on Crowley, who leaned over and kissed his forehead.

He said nothing, but smiled at his angel before getting completely out of bed. “Now! Plants. Then training. Now that I’m paying attention, I can see that you really are radiating divine love on the psionic plane, angel. We’re going to have to figure out how to dim that unless you want all the human Guides piling up on your doorstep.”

Aziraphale scrubbed his hands over his face. “Fine. Something to remember. So how do I do it?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Crowley admitted. “Human Sentinels and Guides don’t have divinity to show on the psionic plane. I didn’t, either; my Grace was taken when I fell.”

Aziraphale peeked through his fingers. “But you have some now.”

Crowley paused as he put on his pants. “Right. I’d forgotten. I wonder what I look like on the psionic plane?”

“Do you know of any human Guides you could trust to tell you? Or to help us, for that matter?” Aziraphale asked, finally sitting up. He snapped the mess on and in his body away and stood. 

“The Alpha Primes of London are Sherlock Holmes and John Watson,” Crowley said, walking into his closet to find a different shirt. “Dr. Watson is an accomplished Guide. However, the Alpha Primes in the Americas are a bit stronger. They’ve got more territory, after all. After I check the plants, why don’t we go to the bookshop and see if I can help us meditate into a relaxed state on the psionic plane? I can reach out from there to connect with the strongest human Guides to see if we can get help reigning in the divine, or if we’re going to have to put up with it. The only drawback that I can see is that we’ll be revealing ourselves.”

Aziraphale looked for his own clothes and started tugging them on. “I think that’s probably inevitable. We stand for the humans now. They should know that we’re here.”

“Heaven won’t approve,” Crowley pointed out.

“You mean the archangels won’t approve,” Aziraphale said dryly. “Mother already gave us this task, and I think she’ll trust us to do it as we see fit.”

“Angel, I like the way you’re thinking,” Crowley said. He found a pair of shades to cover his serpent eyes. “Hell hasn’t been in touch.”

Aziraphale smirked. “They’re afraid of you. As they should be.”

Crowley gave him a wicked grin, and refrained from reminding the angel that technically, Hell was afraid of Aziraphale. “Ah, well. Let me go mist the plants and scare them into compliance, and we can go to the shop.”

“Why the shop, specifically? Not that I object, of course,” Aziraphale said, buttoning his shirt.

“It’s sentient now,” Crowley said, leaning against his bedroom door frame. “We can connect with our spirit animals there and be utterly safe with the shop to watch over us. Just give it permission to do so. I’d think, by now, the shop would recognize a threat.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly, and picked up his waistcoat. “It likely would, yes. Do you know, it sent me an image of Gabriel when I asked it if anyone had attempted entrance?”

Crowley straightened up. “What did that wanker want? Mother said she’d be informing Heaven of the order to leave us alone.”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said, finishing up the buttons on the waistcoat. He bent down to put his shoes on. “He looked rather flustered, actually. I imagine, if it’s important, he’ll be back.”

“He’d better leave us alone,” Crowley grumbled. “I’m still not thrilled with how he tried to kill you without any sort of a trial at all.”

“He what?” Aziraphale straightened. “No trial?”

Crowley looked guilty. “Yeah, I wasn’t planning to tell you that. They didn’t give you a trial for your part in averting Armageddon, angel. They just planned to execute you by Hellfire.”

Aziraphale sat down heavily, on Crowley’s bed. “After all this time, I didn’t even warrant a hearing.” He huffed, hurt. “Right, well, they can just go fuck themselves.”

“Angel! The mouth on you!” Crowley tsked, but came inside to put his arms around him. Aziraphale buried his head in Crowley’s lean stomach and clung for a moment. “Heaven really did forsake me.”

Crowley stroked the fluffy blond curls on top of his angel’s head. “But Mother didn’t. That’s what you need to remember, love.”

“I’ll try, dearest.” Aziraphale let himself be held for long moments, then seemed to shake himself. “Right. Enough of that. Go and scare your plants, dear.”

Crowley leaned down to kiss his angel’s forehead, then sauntered off to the atrium. “Right, you lot, straighten up! We’ve company. There had better be no spots today, or it’s to the disposal with you!”

**Part 3**

Aziraphale opened the front door to the bookshop cautiously, warned by the door that he had an ethereal visitor. He was unsurprised to see Gabriel pacing the front room of the shop.

“Ah, Gabriel,” he said, stepping fully into his shop but leaving the door open for Crowley, who was just parking the car (and ensuring the parking meters on both sides of the street were broken, but that was neither here nor there). “Something you needed?”

The Archangel Gabriel looked… well, Aziraphale thought he looked possibly as unkempt as ever he’d seen him. The normally dapper suit was wrinkled, the tie askew, and his hair looked as though several hands had been rubbed through it. The purple eyes were bloodshot, and if Aziraphale had been looking at a human, he’d have suspected the man had had no sleep for days.

Gabriel halted his pacing and looked at Aziraphale fully. “I’ve come to make amends.”

“Make amends?” Aziraphale echoed, perplexed at the gesture from the being who thought, for centuries, that he could do no wrong. “Have you wronged me, Gabriel?”

“You know I have, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said heavily. “Mother made that very clear to me and to the other archangels.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips and could think of nothing to say.

Crowley’s voice from behind him, however, filled the silence.

“An apology prompted by a parent is only half an apology,” Crowley hissed. “If you feel no remorse, it means nothing.”

“Raphael,” Gabriel said, relieved. “Are you well?”  
“I’m Crowley, now, Gabe, as you ought to know,” Crowley nudged Aziraphale into the bookshop further and shut the door behind them. The “Closed” sign stayed closed. “And yes, I’m perfect. I have my Sentinel and we’ve no need of you. Fuck off.”  
Gabriel looked devastated. 

“I’m afraid my Guide is quite right,” Aziraphale said quietly. “I have no need of an apology from one who did not believe he was doing wrong. Even if Mother showed you the error of your ways, you treated me terribly for centuries, then tried to kill me without even a hearing for preventing a war that would have wiped out humanity. It has been my job, since I was placed on earth, to help humans. I may have only Changed with the collapse of Armageddon, Gabriel, but a part of me has always been a Sentinel, and that part has always had a duty here.”  
“Heaven acts according to the Divine Plan, written down by scribes millennia ago, and Hell acts to thwart it,” Crowley added. “You played your part, Gabriel, but you lost sight of what Mother loves.”

“She should have loved us first,” Gabriel cried out, then clapped a hand over his mouth.

Crowley raised one ruddy eyebrow. “Careful there, Gabe; wouldn’t want you to take a fall.”

Gabriel turned his back for a moment to regain his composure. Aziraphale and Crowley let him. 

After a long moment, Gabriel turned around. “Aziraphale, Sentinel and Guardian of Earth, I extend my formal apology for the treatment you endured from my hands during your time of trial on Earth. Further, I pledge my aid should it become necessary to defend Earth. You have my word. Raphael, my brother, I missed you. I wish you well, and I am glad to know you are safe.”

The words were oddly formal, and Gabriel’s eyes looked pained as with a thought, he left the shop.

“Well, that was a thing,” Crowley said softly.

Aziraphale pressed his lips together.

“Did he really not know I was Raphael?” Crowley strolled into the backroom and started to make tea. “How odd.”

Aziraphale blew out a breath he didn’t need, and followed him, taking out two mugs. “I’m not actually certain any of them know who became who below. ‘Raphael’ has been missing all this time, officially.”

“Wait, then, how did you know who I was?” Crowley turned to Aziraphale, astonished.

Aziraphale gave that little smug smile of his as the kettle boiled. “Well, for one, I was created with a strand of your divinity, love. Mother told me so when she breathed life into me and called me ‘Azi-raphael.’ She told me you lived, and that you needed me. Obviously, nothing about this Sentinel business, just that she had a special task for me. She changed the spelling of my name to throw Heaven off, I suspect.” He held out his mug for hot water. “Did you know she set me at the Eastern Gate herself? She told Gabriel that was my role, and that he should leave me to it. She told me that I must act as I felt it necessary to act, in my heart, and told me that Raphael would come to me in the Garden. She said you wouldn’t have the same name any longer, but that your heart would be in the right place.”

Crowley set the kettle down and turned fully to face his Sentinel. “So the Grace you gave me when we bonded?”

“Most likely yours, dearheart.”

“You never said anything,” Crowley pointed out.

“Nor did you,” Aziraphale reminded him.

Crowley shook his head and picked up the kettle to pour again. “Right. I need to process that.”

“Fair enough, my dear.” Aziraphale picked up his own tea and headed out to sit on one end of the sofa, Crowley following.

As he sat down himself, Crowley found himself asking, “If you knew Raphael was meant to be missing, and that I was Raphael, why did you never tell the archangels that?”

“My heart told me not to,” Aziraphale said simply. “And Mother told me I must always follow my heart. In that sense, I suppose, I have done my best.”

“Even in the face of Heavenly scorn and derision?” Crowley sipped his tea. “You are something, Angel.”

“Well, I suppose I did take a lesson or two from you on how to go around Heaven to do what was right.” Azirphale gave that little smile again. Crowley wanted to kiss it off, so he took Aziraphale’s tea from him, straddled his lap, and did just that.

…

Dark had fallen by the time the pair had righted themselves. 

“We should probably do something about that,” Aziraphale said suddenly.

“About what?” Crowley asked.

“There are a pair of individuals attempting entrance to the shop.” Aziraphale stretched. “They’ve tried all sorts of things, but the shop has been keeping them at bay while we, er. Well.”

Crowley chuckled. “Thank you, shop,” he said, reaching out to pat one wall and getting a sense of peaceful smugness. “S’pose you can let them in now.”

The front door opened abruptly with a clang of the bells, and two man-shaped beings tumbled through.

“You weren’t kidding, were you, angel?” Crowley said dryly. “They were really trying to get in.”

The smaller being, a short, strongly built blond male-presenting person, detangled himself and managed to stand as Crowley was talking. “Well, yes. Apologies. I’m Dr. John Watson.” He gestured to his counterpart, who was getting up rather more slowly. “My Sentinel, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Ah, yes,” Crowley said. “I’ve heard of you.” He made no move to help them up, and Aziraphale had reached for his mug of tea, warming it with a thought. “Is there a reason you’re attempting to break into my Sentinel’s shop?”

“That’s a Sentinel?” The taller of the pair spoke crisply and incredulously. “I thought from the strength of his presence on the psionic plane that he would likely be a Guide.”

“Ah, but you could not have known that he is an ethereal being in and of himself.” Crowley tilted his head sideways. His eyes, which he’d covered with his usual sunglasses when he’d stood, looked menacing behind them. “I’m the Guide in this pairing.” He let out a little of his own presence, gasping as it was somehow much _more_ than he was used to.

“Careful, dear,” Aziraphale said, standing and laying a hand on his shoulder. “It’s been millennia since you used it.”

“Millenia?” Holmes asked sharply. 

Watson closed his eyes as well. “Oh, my. That is something.”

“John!” Holmes laid a hand on his own Guide. “Are you sure you should be doing that?”

“Oh, he’s not going to hurt me,” Watson said calmly. “He...well. I feel as though I should kneel. Would that be appropriate?”  
“Not in the slightest,” Crowley said. “I don’t know how to bring it back in, angel.”

“Ah, well, I can help you with that, I think.” The doctor folded himself to the floor, ending in lotus position. “Sherlock, behind me. Unnamed Sentinel, on the floor behind your Guide, supporting him. Join me, please. We’ll take this to the psionic plane.”

Crowley raised one fine eyebrow at him. “I’m Crowley, and this is Aziraphale.”

“Guardian of the Eastern Gate?” Sherlock looked skeptical. “Pardon my disbelief. John, are you sure?”  
“Very sure,” John said firmly. “I can help him, if he allows it.”

“If he allows it?” Sherlock echoed. “Just how dangerous are these two?”

“Very,” Crowley hissed, “but we’re no threat to you at the moment.”

“Crowley, stop, love,” Aziraphale said, and snapped his fingers to change his clothing for joggers and a Queen t-shirt. “Oh, nice,” he exclaimed. “I just grabbed something from your closet. Is this that Freddie Mercury chap you liked so much?”

Crowley turned to see, and his jaw dropped. “It is, and what has gotten into you, Angel?”

“I believe you know the answer to that,” Aziraphale said primly, and winked before sinking to the ground, folding his legs into lotus position. 

With their course clearly laid, Crowley snapped as well, for an outfit that matched Aziraphale’s. He ignored his Sentinel’s smirk as he settled himself in front of him, folding his legs.

“That would be very handy,” Sherlock muttered as he divested himself of his own knee-length wool coat, and suit jacket. “Lotus position is terrible in suit trousers.”

“Suck it up, Sherlock, and sit behind me,” John said.

Grumbling, the Sentinel sat, and John turned back to Crowley.

“You know how to access the psionic plane?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” Crowley said. 

“Follow me there, please, and I can walk you through dimming that presence,” John said. “I don’t think it will be all that different from hiding regular Guide abilities on the psionic plane.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “And you know something about that?”

“I do,” John said. He looked Crowley over. “It was necessary if I wanted to serve in the military without a Sentinel. Which I did. So I figured it out.”

“But then, you’d know all about hiding, wouldn’t you,” Sherlock said silkily. It wasn’t a question.

Crowley took his glasses off. “I would.”

“Fascinating,” Sherlock said as he took in the serpentine gold eyes. 

“Shall we get on with it, then?” John asked, a bit impatiently.

“By all means.” Crowley opened both hands in front of him.

John did not take that as an invitation to touch, but closed his eyes and centered himself. Crowley followed suit, and the world turned blue. 

“Interesting,” Crowley said, watching as Eve slithered by with Aziraphale’s spirit animal, the African lion he’d called Ariel. “Our Sentinels not here, then?”

“Not in this particular space,” John said. His own spirit animal, a winter wolf, circled them, too. In the distance, Crowley saw another animal, also canine, coming toward them.

“Is that a dire wolf?” Crowley asked. “Haven’t seen one of those in a while.”

“They’re extinct,” John said, looking over at Crowley with an incredulous expression.

“Hence why I haven’t seen one in a while,” Crowley said blandly. He looked down at himself. “Well, isn’t that something.”

He glowed with divine Grace.

“So how do I turn off the light show? You show me, and I’ll show my Sentinel,” Crowley said.

John gestured to an old fashioned radio he’d manifested on the plane. “You know how Sentinels are coached to dial their senses down or up?”

“Right, I’ve heard of that,” Crowley said. “Aziraphale figured all that out quite quickly so I didn’t need to coach him at all.”

“It’s like that, only, picture something that makes sense to you, then mentally link your ‘light show’ to that dial, and turn it down.” John gestured, turning down his dial to dim himself. He made himself a pale copy of the John whose presence could be felt strongly on the psionic plane. “See?”

“I can hardly sense you when you go that dim,” Crowley marveled. “Well done. Let me see.” He manifested the Bentley’s dash. “I s’pose the only problem with this would be …” He heard the faint sounds of “Another One Bites the Dust.” “That.”

“Is that Queen?”

“Yeah, any CD or tape I leave in my Bentley becomes Queen’s Greatest Hits within two weeks,” Crowley admitted. “It’s infectious. I can’t even figure out how it happened. But I love Queen, so it’s not really a hardship.” He pictured another dial, next to the volume, and labeled it, _Grace_. Reaching out, he turned it down, thinking hard about turning down the light. 

It worked.

“Neat,” Crowley said. “Thanks for the tip.”

“You’re welcome,” John said. He hesitated, and added, “You and your partner aren’t just Sentinel and Guide, are you?”

“We’re really not,” Crowley said, “but nevermind. Aziraphale declared us outside of pride hierarchies, just this afternoon, so your place is safe.”

“I wasn’t really worried about that,” John admitted. “But I can see you facing some challenges. You’re ridiculously strong.”

“Tell you a secret, mate,” Crowley said. “I’m the first Guide. Like, ever. So.”

“The first Guide?” John asked incredulously. “But we only felt you bond about a week ago.”

“Well, yes, it took my Sentinel some time to figure it out and come online,” Crowley said airily. 

John stared. “How long?”

“Oh, about six thousand years.” Crowley gave a wicked grin at John’s look.

John blinked. “Right, if you ever want to talk about it, that’s part of my function as both a doctor and the Alpha Guide Prime of London, so. You know. I’m here for you, and all that.”

“Warms my heart, that statement,” Crowley said wryly. “But thank you. Shall we go back? See if our Sentinels have murdered each other yet?”

“Sherlock is more likely to eviscerate yours, verbally, than anything else,” John said. “But Aziraphale looked as though he could hold his own.”

“More than capable, my angel, yes.” Crowley snapped, and he was back in his body.

“...and I’ll thank you to leave the entire subject alone,” he heard Aziraphale snap. 

“Wow, I’m gone a few minutes and you made my angel lose his temper,” Crowley marveled. “I’m impressed. Except, well, he’s likely to smite you if you keep up whatever it is you’re doing.”

“He cannot possibly be an angel,” Sherlock said heatedly. “Angels don’t exist.”

Crowley tugged Aziraphale up with himself as he stood. “Really?” He popped his wings. They offered a dark kaleidoscope of blues, greens, deep purples, bergundies, and blacks. “Cool. Hey, Aziraphale, I got colors too!”

Aziraphale popped his own, lighter wings, now in shimmering pastels of various shades. “Seems we match, dearheart.”

Sherlock opened his mouth, and John beat him to it.

“ _No_ , Sherlock,” John said.

“But!”

“ _No.”_

Ignoring the byplay, Aziraphale snapped his fingers, re-clothing Crowley and himself in their favored attire, and pursed his lips. “I suppose you’d better come into the back room, then. Wine?”

“None for me, thank you,” Sherlock said, manners automatic. “I react poorly to alcohol.”

“I’ll have his share,” John said cheerfully. “But if you’ve got a cuppa lying about, he’s British enough to prefer it.”

Crowley grinned. “Well, then, we’ve just the thing.” He led them after Aziraphale into the backroom and miracled up another sofa. “Have a seat. Give me a mo’ to get my angel up to speed on his dials, and we’ll be right with you.”

“Dials?” Aziraphale called from the kitchenette.

“Yes, love,” Crowley said. “We just need you to visualize a dial of some sort on the psionic plane, tied to your Grace, so that you can dim it a bit and evade discovery.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said. “One moment, then.” He closed his eyes, still holding the kettle. Within moments, John had called out, “That’s it, then. You’re dimming quite nicely.”

“Does this mean the snake person didn’t need to do lotus position?” Sherlock asked. “I’d’ve liked to remain standing. Just look at the line of my trousers.”

Crowley giggled silently as Aziraphale came back to him and set the kettle on. “I think you and this Holmes fellow have a lot in common, angel.”

“Perish the thought,” Aziraphale said, his smile giving lie to his aghast tone. 

“They’re both rather quick studies,” John said as Crowley came back in with a bottle of very good wine and three glasses. Aziraphale followed with Sherlock’s tea, and they sat in their customary places on their favored sofa.

“I can see that,” Crowley said. “How did you get ‘snake person’ from the available evidence?”

Sherlock waved a hand. “Once I accepted that angels could exist--the wings offered ample evidence--then it was mostly deduction. I could accept that the serpentine eyes were real, took note of the slithery walk, and placed it into context with established knowledge about the Guardian of the Eastern Gate. Would you be the Serpent of Eden, then?”

“Deletes the solar system, but knows obscure Christian bible references,” John muttered, then sipped his wine.

Crowley sipped his own wine. “Well-reasoned,” he admitted. “And the first Guide. Cast out of Heaven for questioning the Almighty about why she would make her humans suffer.” He nudged Aziraphale’s ankle with his own. “My Sentinel was on apple-tree duty.”

“Really,” Aziraphale said. “We hardly need to point out my own missteps, dearheart.”

Crowley gave his Sentinel a wicked grin. “I think, my love, you did just as Mother intended you to.”

Aziraphale smiled wryly, but said nothing. 

“How did you find us?” Crowley asked.

Sherlock pointed at John. “ _My_ Guide tracked you down. The entire S & G community felt you bond last week, though we could tell someone had made an effort to take the event to a relatively obscure location. We’ve been seeking you ever since. John noticed you came to London--it _is_ our territory after all--early this morning. He followed his nose, but I’m not altogether surprised to find you here. A.Z. Fell & Co. has a bit of a reputation in intelligence circles.”

“Really?” Aziraphale leaned forward. “In what way?”

“Firstly, according to my brother the British Government, you’ve been in this same location, with the same proprietor, for more than two hundred years,” Sherlock said. “It appeared that attempts were made to make it appear that someone had inherited, every fifty years or so, but honestly. The intelligence community isn’t that easily fooled. According to records, Angelique Fell took over for the original A.Z. in the mid 19th century, briefly, and her ‘son’ Ezra took over for her in the late 19th. Followed by other Fells who all looked remarkably alike.”

“Angelique?” Crowley looked at Aziraphale salaciously. “Reeeally.”

“Quite,” Aziraphale said. “It seemed the best way to throw suspicion off. Change the corporation for a while. You know.”

“I do,” Crowley said. “Feeling particularly female at the time?”

“Perhaps.” Aziraphale gave a Cheshire cat smile. “It does happen. Rarely, but it does happen.”

“Right, if we can get the angel and the serpent to stop eye-fucking now, we can discuss the elephant in the room,” Sherlock said. 

John rolled his eyes. 

Crowley just slunk down a little more in his chair and leveled a smoldering gaze at his Sentinel. “But it’s so much fun.”

To his delight, Aziraphale took a long sip of his wine, gazing lovingly at his Guide through sooty lashes. “It absolutely is,” the angel admitted. “Why haven’t we done this before?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, angel,” Crowley drawled, then bit his lip. “That look you’re giving me isn’t new.”

Silence fell as the pair gazed at each other, and Sherlock huffed. “Fine. Are you planning to take over the world or what?”  
“What?” “What!” The immortal pair looked at each other, and Crowley smirked. “I don’t think that’s what we had in mind, no.”

“Then what, precisely, is happening here?” Sherlock asked. John just sipped his wine.

Aziraphale set down his glass, slowly. “Are you aware that the world nearly ended almost two weeks ago?”

Sherlock sat back. “All those ridiculous stories of kracken and Atlantis, nuclear facilities and such?”

“Quite,” Aziraphale said. “The Antichrist had come into his power, and it was written that he was to take over the world.”

“However,” Crowley took up the story, “he decided that he liked the world as it was, defied Satan himself, and averted Armageddon.”

“We helped,” Aziraphale said.

“We really didn’t,” Crowley corrected.

“We helped a little bit,” Aziraphale retorted.

“The only thing we did was give Adam a moment to collect himself and figure out how to stop it,” Crowley pointed out. “We stood with him and gave him the option. But it was really down to him, wasn’t it? And we had nothing to do with the person he grew into.”

“True,” Aziraphale admitted. “Oh, dear. We really need to check on Warlock.”

“Right,” Crowley said. “I’ll add it to my to-do list.”

Sherlock looked up as if to seek guidance. John was giggling silently into his wine, having just noticed that the glass never got empty.

“At any rate, crisis averted, the war between Heaven and Hell was called off, they nearly executed us both, we figured out how to thwart them, and told them to leave us alone,” Crowley explained. 

“Three days later, Crowley came to see me. I’d been feeling awful, you see, and I hadn’t contacted him. I thought, perhaps, I was Falling,” Aziraphale added softly.

“Falling?” Sherlock asked.

“From Grace. From Heaven. In defiance of their orders.” He settled himself back into his chair. “Crowley managed to determine that I wasn’t falling; I was merely Changing.”

“Into my Sentinel,” Crowley said. “Earth’s Sentinel, charged with its guardianship.”

“I suppose that’s the important bit, yes,” Aziraphale said. “Mother came to us while we were bonding to tell me of my, er. _Our_ new roles.”*

“New roles?” Sherlock leaned forward, steepling his fingers under his chin. “What were the old ones?”

Crowley pointed at Aziraphale. “Thwart him.”

Aziraphale smirked and pointed back. “Thwart him. Well, and do Heaven’s bidding on Earth.”

“I did Hell’s,” Crowley shrugged. “We left you all to it if our orders contradicted each other, helped each other out from time to time, and generally, well.”

“Fell in love with humanity,” Aziraphale finished. He looked at his wine glass. “And with each other.”

“And your new roles?” Sherlock persisted, ignoring the love bit.

“Not entirely sure how they’re going to play out,” Crowley admitted. “Mother is playing a long game, it seems.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale confirmed. “Her ways are ineffable, but knowable with hindsight. I accept that my role in the last six thousand years of my time on earth has been one of trial. Of learning myself and my heart.”

“Right, we really don’t know what it means to be Earth’s Sentinel and Guide, but Mother did say that Heaven would be leaving Earth alone,” Crowley said. “She probably made the same suggestion to Hell, but no one tells that lot what to do. Come to think of it, she probably said nothing so as not to incite them.”

“They’re afraid of us anyway,” Aziraphale said airily.

“Still,” Crowley said. “No idea, really, what’s coming next. Although I suppose…” He trailed off.

Sherlock nodded. “Yes. It seems rather ominous, doesn’t it, that you’ve come online _now_.”

“To protect Earth?” John entered the conversation for the first time. “That is suggestive, actually. What kind of threat might Earth as a whole face?”

“Earth’s biggest threats have always been humanity’s vices,” Aziraphale murmured. “I was allowed to temper some, but not all of them. Heaven was more inclined to let you all kill each other. Less for them to deal with, you see.”

“And more to overrun Hell,” Crowley observed, hollowly. He looked at Aziraphale. “Where will souls go, now, if not to Heaven or Hell?”

Aziraphale looked taken aback. “Well, that’s a question. Mother didn’t say there would be any changes on that front, just that Heaven would be leaving us alone.” He paused. “Well, Gabriel did pledge his aid in any difficulties to come, but that’s hardly the same thing.”

“Well,” Sherlock jumped up and held his hand out to John, who took it, and allowed himself to be hauled up. “I’ll go see what the British government might have to say on the subject, and I’ll let you know. Do you intend to form a pride?”

Crowley and Aziraphale looked at each other. “I don’t know about ‘intend,’” Aziraphale said slowly. “I’m newer than I’d like to this Sentinel business, and must do some research. But as I understand it, these things just sort of happen around strong pairs?”

“True,” John confirmed. “I can tell you that I feel sort of attached to you, but not in a way that suggests that you’re my Alpha. More, like, a parent?”

Sherlock nodded. “It’s a very parental feeling. Makes me want to please you. But I still feel very much like myself.”

“Interesting,” Crowley said, remaining sprawled in the chair. “Well, if you don’t mind letting us know what you find out…”

“We would appreciate it,” Aziraphale finished. He got up to walk them to the door. “Mind how you go, now.”

Sherlock paused at the door. “Do be careful, too,” he said slowly. “There are plenty of humans about who would hurt you if they had a chance. I don’t think you’d have trouble with most of the S & G community, but there are always those who would attempt to make the unusual, different, or powerful suffer.”

“You definitely don’t need to tell us that,” Crowley said. “But we’ll beware.”

Aziraphale waved the pair off as he shut the door behind them, locking it. He dimmed the lights as well, and sat himself next to his Guide, drawing Crowley down until his head was in his lap. The ungainly mass of limbs sprawled over the couch, and Aziraphale combed his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “Now that they mention it, Crowley, the timing is a bit ominous,” Aziraphale said softly. “Does Earth itself face a threat other than the ones posed by its inhabitants?”

“Dunno, angel,” Crowley said drowsily, enjoying the feel of the fingers in his hair. “But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to do a little research. A little training. Think you can get your hands on that flaming sword again?”

“Er. It’s actually only a thought away, most of the time,” Aziraphale admitted. “I just have chosen not to drag it out from wherever it rests. And my heart told me never to let Heaven get its hands on that sword again. So.”

“Lying to Mother,” Crowley said with a chuckle. “Who else did you lie to about that sword?”

“I never technically lied,” Aziraphale said with false indignation. “I merely obfuscated. I doubt I fooled Mother for a second, but Gabriel and the Quartermaster seemed not to notice after a moment.”

“Who is the Quartermaster now, anyway?” Crowley asked idly, just drifting.

“Raziel,” Aziraphale said quietly. “Would you like to sleep now, darling?”

“Hmm.” Crowley stretched a little and burrowed into Aziraphale’s soft middle. “Yeah.”

“Go on, then.” Aziraphale picked up a book from the side table and opened it. “I’ll still be here when you wake.”

“Love you,” Crowley mumbled as he drifted off.

“I love you, too, dearheart.”

**Part 4**

The thing was, Crowley _knew_ he could be a little shit.

 _Demon_.

Please. 

But he also knew his angel liked him that way.

So.

He wasn’t worried, at all, that Aziraphale would take offense to his latest decision.

“You’re turning your flat into a halfway house for stray Guides?” Aziraphale asked, nonplussed.

“Well, they’re not coming here,” Crowley said emphatically, gesturing to the bookshop’s cozy back room. “And even with dimming your light, they’re still coming. For some reason.”

It was even true. The pair had attempted to go out again on their second day back from Eden, and they were followed. Incessantly. Crowley wasn’t wrong about Aziraphale being catnip to Guides. Aziraphale’s attractiveness had appeared to amplify after the dimming lesson, which was quite opposite to what Crowley had wanted. The pair could hardly go out without being in some way accosted.

“This way, I can keep an eye on them,” Crowley said. “Some of them need to learn their places.”

“But why your flat?” Aziraphale asked, a bit disappointed. “I love your bed.”

Crowley did a double-take. “My bed, angel?”

“Well, yes.” Aziraphale blushed deeply, but held his ground. Crowley softened.

“Angel, if you agree, I’ll move it and the plants here,” he said. “We could miracle up an extra bit of space upstairs for it. Make that little kitchenette and storage area an actual flat we can live in.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “We could put in a greenhouse on the roof. It could be our place in the city.”

Crowley grinned. “You’re implying we have a place elsewhere, too.”

“Oh, well.” Aziraphale began to fuss with one of his book stacks. “I’d rather thought we could look at buying a home together somewhere in the country. Maybe by the sea?”

Crowley stilled his Sentinel’s hands, then brought them to his lips. “I’d really, really love that, Aziraphale,” he said quietly. “A place with space for a garden.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “With room for my favorite books. And a large kitchen. I fancy learning to cook.”

“We’ll have to make time to check on Eden, too,” Crowley mused. “But I think that garden has a purpose that will become clear later.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Aziraphale moved to catch Crowley’s hips with his hands, pressing them together and leaning into his Guide. “But for now, if it pleases you, of course; you may do as you’d like upstairs. But do let’s bring the bed from your flat, please.”

“Done.”

…

Crowley spent the afternoon of their third day back working on their new flat over the bookshop. The space was an elongated diamond shape, roughly matching the bookshop below, but fronted with windows on two sides. One corner had a counter, small refrigerator, sink, and two-burner stove. The windowless corner, predictably, held shelves and boxes that contained yet more books. Aziraphale also had a comfortable armchair and curtains up on all the windows, but the space was generally empty.

He started by sectioning the storeroom off with its own wall and door that closed. Next, he sectioned off the corner opposite the kitchen, leaving the new room in a triangle shape, with one wall of windows. He added a closet in dimensional space there, marveling at the fact that the angel hadn’t had one before. He miracled the walls a deep blue, changed out the curtains for crisp white floor-to-ceiling numbers, and wished his bed into the space along the wall opposite the windows. With a snap, he changed out his bedding to a sort of impressionistic set of Eygptian cotton in shades of gray, white, black, and blue. He added a small bedside table on either side of the bed, matching in ebony, and set Art Deco inspired brushed steel lamps with crisp white rectangular shades on their tops. 

In the main room, he went with a soft cream for the walls, and expanded the kitchen. He changed out the refrigerator and stove for new, larger models in stainless steel, but added more cupboards and an island, thinking about Aziraphale’s stated interest in learning how to cook. He made the cabinets a light oak, and the countertops a deep blue-gray granite, taking care to preserve the angel’s few kitchen things as he did so. He set up a comfortable leather sofa facing the wall of windows there, and placed the armchair next to it.

He’d ask Aziraphale if he wanted a telly or not. 

When he finished, Crowley stood back and surveyed the space. It would work, he thought. Time to think about the plants. He went out the back door to the stair landing from the bookshop, and up to the roof. 

There wasn’t much up there, just some refuse and the building’s ancient HVAC unit. “Wonder when he got that put in?” Crowley muttered, thinking that _sometime in the twentieth century_ was probably the answer. The shop ran on angel power, as far as Crowley could tell, but perhaps Aziraphale felt the need to keep up appearances?

He shrugged, leaving the unit in place. There was plenty of space for a glassed greenhouse next to it, so Crowley set one up, adding deep planters and readying it for the plants, which he would bring in manually over the next few days.

As he stepped out of the greenhouse, he felt a wave of love from the building, and smiled. “There now,” Crowley said as he patted the wall next to the door to the little shack that topped the roof and covered the building entrance. “We’ve made you even prettier.”

The distinct preen he felt at that statement made him grin as he made his way down the stairs to the main shop.

He called out to Aziraphale on his way through. “I’m off to my flat, then!” He heard the angel’s answering call before he stepped out to the Bentley parked at the curb and got in.

Crowley tapped his steering wheel along with “You’re My Best Friend,” humming as he pulled up to his own building. His flat, on the top floor, already had soundproofing and protections for empaths built in. He’d had thousands of years to perfect his own shields, but when he was particularly stressed or tired, it helped to have the space around him act as a shield for his empathy. He assumed it would be the same for the baby Guides who kept finding Aziraphale.

He intended for his old flat to be a space for those needy Guides to settle in, and perhaps to offer specialized training for them. While it was true that there was very little Crowley couldn’t do with his own abilities, the human Guides had become rather creative with their application of the skills. Crowley was delighted to find, in talking with John, that there were many small tricks he didn't know because he hadn’t been in touch with the community in so very long. The local S & G Center, which John ran, focused more on basic training for both Sentinels and Guides.

This space, Crowley thought, could be a place for those Guides who needed more than the Center could provide. Despite his displeasure with the Guides’ attachment to his Sentinel, Crowley felt a responsibility to them that he hadn’t quite managed before. He thought, perhaps, it was a reflection of his own newly bonded status.

He miracled up a cart and started loading the plants he intended to take with him onto it. “You will behave,” Crowley hissed. “You will be gorgeous and lush, and there will be no excuses!”

The plants shivered as he loaded his favorites--not that they knew that--onto the cart and took them down the elevator. He paused on the elevator to remember that he’d ensured it wouldn’t work for anyone but him, and shrugged, undoing the minor miracle that kept it that way. 

It _had_ been kind of a dick move.

_Demon._

Right. 

…

Aziraphale, predictably, cooed over the plants as they came in and nearly ruined all of Crowley’s hard work. 

“Aren’t you the loveliest of lovely?” The angel asked in that sort of aggressively sweet tone people used with particularly adorable babies. “You will enjoy your new space. I just know you will.”

“Spoiling them, angel,” Crowley said gruffly. “Let me get them upstairs.”

“Of course, love.” Aziraphale leaned over and kissed him softly. “Everything go well at the flat?”

“Didn’t do much.” Crowley gestured to the plants. “Collected my plants, fixedtheelevator. You should go see upstairs now though if you haven’t.”

“I will, then,” Aziraphale said, picking up one end of the cart to help Crowley maneuver the unwieldy thing up the shop’s interior stairs. He ignored the slurred together admission of kindness. “Why no miracles on the plants?”

“Eh,” Crowley couldn’t put it into words exactly. “They don’t need one, I guess, to grow well. Can’t really say.”

Aziraphale smiled gently, but said no more, helping Crowley and his cart all the way to the roof. As they emerged, Aziraphale set his end of the cart down and clapped once. “Oh, my dear, this is lovely.”

“Thought it might be,” Crowley grunted. He began pulling his plants off the carts and placing them carefully on the shelves he’d made for them. “Might do some more planting in those big raised beds there.”

Aziraphale walked slowly around the space, stopping every few feet to exclaim over some clever fixture. “Is that a snake?” he asked, pointing to an iridescent glass statue.

“Every garden needs a serpent,” Crowley said absently, arranging one of his more rare beauties. “That one will help guard the place from pests.”

“Delightful!” He finished his slow turn around the greenhouse and waited patiently for Crowley to finish fussing with his plants. “Which ones did you bring here?”

“Oh, the rare ones,” Crowley said. “I’m leaving the common house plants over there to soothe the baby Guides who can’t control themselves.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Right. Am I overstepping if I say that’s kind of you?”

“I am not kind,” Crowley hissed automatically. The plants shivered.

“Of course not, dear,” Aziraphale confirmed softly. “I’m sure you have some dastardly ulterior motive.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, but when Aziraphale took his hand and led him out of the greenhouse to head down to their newly created space, he didn’t protest.

He watched Aziraphale’s face as he opened the door from the landing to enter the kitchen directly, and did some preening of his own. His angel’s face radiated divine love, and Crowley wanted to bathe in it.

“My dear!” Aziraphale breathed. “It’s wonderful!” 

The angel wandered in and ran his fingertips over the granite of the counter before turning to see the little sitting area. “Oh! A sofa to cuddle on. And you’ve added a tartan throw!” He scurried over and lifted it to his face. “It’s so soft.”

Crowley cleared his throat. “Could add a telly if you’d like.”

“Maybe later,” Aziraphale mumbled, still rubbing his face on the soft blanket. 

Crowley moved further into the space, gently taking Aziraphale’s hands away from the fabric and setting the blanket back down on the couch. “Come see the bedroom.”

“I have a bedroom!” Aziraphale exclaimed excitedly.

Crowley laughed. “Well, _we_ have a bedroom. Come and see.”

He opened the door to the room, and gestured Aziraphale inside. The angel stopped at the door, taking in the space. “What do you think?” Crowley asked nervously.

“It’s perfect,” Aziraphale said. “Just perfect.” He wandered over to the bed and stroked the soft cotton of the duvet. “It’s us.”

“I’d hoped you’d think so.” Crowley walked over to the bed, too, and reached for Aziraphale’s hands, bringing them to his lips. “Welcome home.”

Aziraphale’s eyes darkened, and he picked up Crowley, only to toss him onto the bed and crawl right on top of him.

Crowley spread his legs a little, welcoming his angel, and let himself giggle as Aziraphale pressed kisses to his forehead, cheeks, and nose before landing, firmly, on his mouth. He deepened the kiss, adding tongue as he heard Aziraphale made that soft moan that meant the angel was becoming deeply aroused.

“Clothes?” he broke off to hiss.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the sensation of all his bare skin meeting Aziraphale’s made Crowley’s eyes roll into the back of his head. By the sound of it, Aziraphale had a similar reaction, Crowley wanted more of that lovely skin rubbing on him. “Lube, angel,” he croaked out. “Side table. Drawer.”

Aziraphale leaned over to grab the bottle--new, unopened--then tipped some into his palm and reached down to stroke both of them with it. He set the bottle aside, then lay himself back down on Crowley, blanketing him with skin and hitching his hips slightly. “LIke this?” Aziraphale asked, adjusting so that their cocks were aligned, pressed together. He moved slightly, letting the weight and friction of his body do most of the work.

“Just like this,” Crowley hissed, moving a little. Together, they rocked, feeling the acres of skin between them move, their most sensitive parts rubbing slickly together until they were both moaning with the sheer pleasure of it. “Angel, angel, angel.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped, then thrust, hard, against his Guide, and came. Crowley thrust up, too, the way slickened even further with his angel’s spend, and came a few thrusts later.

They came down slowly, Aziraphale sort of collapsing on Crowley, who was content to feel his weight.

“I liked that,” Aziraphale whispered against Crowley’s collar bone. “All that skin. Never done this that way before.”

“Me either,” Crowley admitted. “Seemed too intimate to do with someone who wasn’t you.”

“Really?” Aziraphale drew back a little to smile at his Guide. “More than intercourse, even?”

Crowley looked a little uncomfortable. “I can get fucked without getting intimate, love. I can’t alleviate the sheer skin hunger I have for you anywhere else.”

Aziraphale hummed. “Nor could I, I imagine.” He bussed Crowley’s nose. “You made us a lovely space, dearheart.”

Crowley reached up to run his fingers through Aziraphale’s messy curls. “You’ve a new halo, there, love.”

Aziraphale chuckled, and eased himself off the bed.

**Part 5**

The Sentinels in the area seemed to be nonplussed by Aziraphale.

Sherlock requested a meeting with Crowley, specifically, on their fourth day back. He met up with the Alpha Sentinel of London at St. James Park, earning a few looks from operatives that were more familiar with Aziraphale.

According to Sherlock, Sentinels didn’t quite understand Aziraphale’s role. He wasn’t an Alpha; he was clearly Other. They wanted to please him, but felt no particular imperative. Other than one. There was a distinct aura of compulsion to obey around Aziraphale for Sentinels. 

“It’s the oddest thing,” he said. “Aziraphale told me to leave the subject alone, and I can’t seem to bring it up with him, at all.”

“Earth’s Guardian,” Crowley muttered, thinking. “Your commander, perhaps?”

“Not sure I like that,” Sherlock admitted.

“Not sure he would, either, if he was aware,” Crowley said, slowly. “Angels themselves tend to be obedient to Heaven, without exception. Those who rebel, or question, Fall. Aziraphale has always been a bit odd that way. He’d obey, but find a way to do so kindly. Or find me to subvert him on purpose. I gave humanity the option to gain knowledge and free will; he gave humanity the means to protect it. His literal job now is to protect you all.”

“Then this imperative we feel is likely a function of that,” Sherlock said thoughtfully. “If he needs us in order to protect Earth, he’d need to have some way to ensure we did as he asked. Interesting. Best make him aware of it, though.”

“I’ll bring it up this evening,” Crowley promised.

…

Aziraphale, predictably, appeared horrified to learn he’d inadvertently created some sort of an imperative that prevented Sherlock-- _The Alpha Sentinel of London--_ from speaking to him about his role as a Sentinel.

His muttered “fuck” cracked Crowley up. His Sentinel rarely swore, but when he did, he meant it emphatically. Aziraphale’s attempts to shush Crowley’s giggles made him laugh even harder, if that were possible. The angel gave up and sat himself down on his armchair, fuming as Crowley took his time regaining control of himself. 

“Yes, let’s just mock the inept angel who, apparently, can control Sentinels,” Aziraphale muttered. “Because that will be productive.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Crowley said, gasping, before playing that back in his head. “Hey! You’re not inept.”

“Right. All evidence to the contrary,” Aziraphale said huffily. “Honestly. Why didn’t I come with a manual?”

Crowley shook his head and plopped himself down in his angel’s lap. “I didn’t either. I learned as I went, and I’ve got more things to learn, too. Just yesterday John introduced me to the Alpha Guide of the United States, a chap called Blair Sandberg. Now there’s someone who’s made a study of how all this works. He’s sending us his books.” He cupped Aziraphale’s cheeks with his hands. “And I’ve had a little more than 6,000 years to figure it out. You’ve had less than two weeks. But I do think you’ll want to undo whatever it is you did with Sherlock. He’s not mad about it, but he could teach you a lot if you’d let him.”

Aziraphale made a face. “He’s abrasive. I’m not a great fan of abrasive people. Reminds me of. Well.”

Crowley stroked his thumbs over Aziraphale’s cheekbones. “Any number of nasty, holier-than-thou people with whom you were obliged to make nice in the name of Heaven over the years?”

“Yes, that,” Aziraphale said, defeatedly. “Right alongside those clergy who thought they knew everything and never could be convinced that not only was God’s plan ineffable, the whole point of her directives from the beginning was to love everyone. Love one another. Without bias, without fear. Just love. Why is that so hard for some to understand?”

“Because for all that love is what God directs, humans have the free will to interpret. And many will seek power before they will seek compassion, angel, as you well know. Some ears and hearts are closed to messages that would urge them to love one another if it would mean giving up some small measure of power.” Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s forehead. 

Aziraphale breathed him in, letting his scent ground him. “Right,” he said softly. “I should meet with him, then.”

“Something casual, I think,” Crowley suggested. “Perhaps dinner? We could take them out for sushi, or something.”

“Of course, where Sherlock goes, John will follow.” Aziraphale took one more deep breath and gently set his Guide away from him. “I will phone him myself.”

Crowley stood up and sauntered toward the window to look out. “You do that. I’m going to … oh, look. Someone’s reported the meters were broken. They’re trying to fix them.”

“Best take care of that, then,” Aziraphale said, and picked up his phone to dial Sherlock.

“Think I’ll wait until he’s all done, then set them to break again,” Crowley mumbled, watching the street.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes a bit, but notably, did not say anything. Such pranks had been part of Crowley’s nature from the beginning, and one comment now would do nothing to change that. Frankly, Aziraphale found a lot of Crowley’s antics amusing in a way that was probably not angelic, but he found he didn’t care.

Actually, he found that in the wake of his Change, he cared less and less about what an angel should do and think. It was freeing in a way he sort of understood. The shackles of six thousand years of oppressive thoughts were lifted. No more paperwork. No more reports and reprimands for “frivolous” miracles. No more need to keep Crowley at arm’s length. 

He could hold his love, kiss his love, keep his love.

He thanked God for it everyday.

The phone lit up in his hand, and he answered it.

“Fell & Company,” Aziraphale said automatically, wincing. He’d not got the hang of answering his personal mobile more familiarly.

“Aziraphale, this is John Watson,” the voice on the other end said. 

“Ah, yes, John; I was just about to ring Sherlock.” Aziraphale tapped the speaker phone picture on his screen, thinking idly that Crowley’s lesson in how to use the phone had been timely. “I’ve put the phone ‘on speaker,’ as they say.”

“Ah, thanks. Yes. I can put him on for you in a moment, but I actually have a situation here that I’m hoping you can help with,” John said. 

“Here, as in?”

“The Center.” Aziraphale could hear John take a breath. “I’ve a Sentinel who is, well. I’m not sure I can help him. I’m not sure any Guide could help him, honestly. He’s built like a tank, has shields of steel, and seems to be going feral for no reason. It took Sherlock and three other Sentinels to get him into a locked isolation suite, and no Guide, including me, has been able to get him to calm down.”

“Are you sure this isn’t something for Crowley to do?” Aziraphale tutted a little.

“He might be able to help, but my gut is telling me we need a different approach here,” John admitted. “He seems to be having real difficulties with Guides.”

“Pardon me if I’m wrong, but that seems counterintuitive,” Aziraphale observed. “Don’t most Sentinels accept the need to protect Guides as some sort of tribal imperative?”

“Well, generally,” John said. “Which is why I’m sort of at sea, here. I’m wondering if your uniqueness might allow us to see what’s actually wrong and help him out. We haven’t even managed to get his name.”

“Do we know what set him off?” 

“Not really.” Aziraphale heard Sherlock mumble something about “needing more data” in the background. 

“Should I bring Crowley with me?” Aziraphale asked, watching his Guide look back at him with defiant eyes slitted. He half expected to see the forked tongue make an appearance. It seemed his love would be coming along whether he wanted him or not, but as that suited Aziraphale, the question really was pro forma.

“His presence will likely aid you,” John said. “Your pairing is unique, and none of us knows anything about what you’re capable of. Well. Except for that thing Sherlock was going to talk to Crowley about.”

“Which he did,” Aziraphale assured him. “As I said, I was about to ring Sherlock to set up a meeting where I could try to… what is that phrase? ‘Lift the mind whammy?’”

“That is absolutely not the right phrase,” Crowley hissed quietly. “Absolutely no one says that, Angel.”

Aziraphale shrugged, listening to John choke back laughter. “That would be great,” John assured him. “Can you two come by now?”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at Crowley, who replaced his glasses over his eyes and straightened up as much as he ever did. “Of course.” He ended the call. “Shall we, dearheart?”

Crowley prowled toward him. When he reached Aziraphale, he cupped the angel’s face and drew him into a deep, filthy kiss. When they surfaced, Crowley nodded decisively. “Yes. We shall.” And he sauntered out the door without so much as a by-your-leave. The temerity!

It was really too bad that Aziraphale loved him beyond reason. The angel drew a deep breath he didn’t need, told his cock to behave itself, and walked calmly out behind his Guide.

…

“Oh, that’s not good,” Crowley said quietly as they approached the Center.

Aziraphale, too, could sense feral anger behind a locked door there. “Oh, I can feel that,” he observed. “Wrath.”

“Wrapped in lust and greed,” Crowley agreed. “You feel that, too?”

Aziraphale concentrated. “Now that you mention it. How awful.”

“He’s not interested in protecting Guides, Angel,” Crowley said. “At least, none of the ones that want to help him here.”

“No, he wants a specific Guide, as do they all. But this one isn’t his?” Aziraphale questioned. “Or doesn’t want to be?”

“Can’t be,” Crowley whispered, and paled. “He killed his own Guide.”

“What on Earth?” Aziraphale quickened his pace, taking Crowley’s hand in his and lacing their fingers together.  
Crowley firmed his lips. “It may have been an accident, but this Sentinel has killed his Guide, Angel. That’s what I’m sensing. That’s what drove him feral.”

“Is there any way he can come back from that?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

“No,” Crowley said shortly. “It’s unheard of. Something terrible must have happened.”

“Well, we need to get to the bottom of it, then.” Aziraphale tugged Crowley through the front doors of the Center, and arrowed in on John and Sherlock, who were discussing the situation in their office. In doing so, he blew by the perky low-level Guide who served as a receptionist, ignoring her completely. “Right. What is going on, Sherlock?”

“We got a call from Metro PD to come and manage a feral Sentinel,” Sherlock said immediately. “I took a few of the Sentinels who were hanging about today with me, and we brought him back here. That’s as much as I know right now. I’m trying to get my colleague, Detective Greg Lestrade, on the phone for more data. None of our Guides, including John, have been able to reach him.”

“I would recommend that none try,” Crowley said menacingly. “He killed his Guide.”

“How on earth can you know that?” John asked.

“It’s why he’s feral,” Crowley said, closing his eyes. “Wrath, greed, envy, lust. Horror. Angel, do you feel that?”

“I do,” Aziraphale said. “Heavens. He’s in quite a state.”

“Why would he kill his own Guide?” John asked, bewildered.

“That’s the question,” Sherlock said grimly. “We have no record of this Sentinel. He may have come online in that wave last week and not reported in.”

“What was that?” Aziraphale asked.

“In the wake of your bonding, there was something of a global wave of Sentinels coming online,” Sherlock said. “Can you please stop doing that?”

Aziraphale looked taken aback. “Doing what?”

“Every time you ask a question, I feel compelled to answer,” Sherlock said. “Please stop.”

“I’m not sure how I’m doing it,” Aziraphale said, distressed.

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. “Come with me to the psionic plane, love.”

The pair closed their eyes, and met in a sea of blue. Eve and Ariel slithered and prowled around them as Crowley said, “Visualize your dials, love.”

Aziraphale did so, and a dashboard that looked like the Bentley’s appeared. Crowley grinned. “We thought of the same thing, love,” he said.

“Yes, well, it’s you, it’s dials, it works.” He gestured toward the dash. “All the senses I could think of, plus Grace.”

Crowley inspected it. “Add another, and call it, ‘Compulsion.’”

Aziraphale did so.

“I think, angel, that you’re naturally compelling other Sentinels to listen to you and do as you say as part of your role as Earth’s Sentinel,” Crowley said quietly. “Try to dial it back.”

Aziraphale considered that, and Crowley watched the newly manifested dial turn itself down. “Did that do it?”

“Let’s go and find out,” Crowley said. He tugged, and they re-inhabited their corporeal bodies, wings manifesting abruptly. “For fuck’s sake.” Crowley put his wings away, and Aziraphale followed suit.

“Let’s try this, then,” Aziraphale said. “Firstly, I should very much like to hear what you have to say, Sherlock, if you are willing to share it with me.”

“I think you should be here for training at the very least,” the other Sentinel spit out quickly. “Oh, good, it worked.”

“Do you really think so?” Aziraphale looked taken aback. “What could I learn?”

“If nothing else, something about our hierarchies and pride structures,” Sherlock said. “I know you’ve declared yourself outside of them, but if you’re going to act in any measure as Earth’s Sentinel, you should know these things.”

Aziraphale hummed. “You’re probably right.”

“You should also know your limits,” Sherlock pointed out. “And we’re best equipped to help you with that.”

“I’m not certain that’s true,” the angel said slowly. “As I don’t seem to have any.”

“Divinity is a thing, gents,” Crowley said briefly. “And can we table this discussion until we deal with that feral Sentinel? He’s giving me a headache.”

“What do you suggest we do?” Aziraphale asked the Alpha pair. “Is there any sort of precedent?”

“We need him to calm down so that he can explain what happened,” Sherlock said, and held up his mobile. “It appears Lestrade’s found the body of one of our registered Guides very near where we picked up the Sentinel. He’s asking me to come look at the scene.”

“Right,” Crowley said. “You’re a detective.”

“Yes, and I’m quite good at it.” Sherlock looked at his watch. “John, can you handle things here for a bit while I go to the scene?”

“Certainly,” John said. “Let me know if you need me.”

Sherlock gave him a small smile. “Always.” He swirled on his coat and left.

Aziraphale looked to John. “I think I can at least calm him. I don’t like the idea of forcing him to calm, but if that’s what I need to do, I will.”

“Please,” John said. “He’s raging in there.”

Aziraphale thought for a moment, and with a snap of his fingers, the waves of rage, lust, envy, and greed dissipated to nothing, leaving love in its place.

“Might’ve overdone that a bit, love,” Crowley said. “I think everyone in the building is now ready to make daisy chains and go skipping through meadows hand-in-hand with their closest neighbor.”

“It’s agape love, dearheart, which you very well know,” Aziraphale said. “I think we should be able to talk to him now.”

John gestured them out the door. “Let’s go, then, gents.”

The pair followed him out.

“Are we allowed to interview him ourselves?” Aziraphale inquired.

John led them through cheerful corridors to the isolation suite in which the formerly feral Sentinel was apparently now basking in angelic love. “I don’t see why not,” John said. “I’m the Alpha Guide here, I run the Center, I’m giving you permission under that authority. Everything will be recorded though, so you might want to watch the wings.”

Crowley rolled his eyes as he followed his Sentinel down the hall. “I’m sure we can contain ourselves, John.”

Aziraphale said nothing, but his eyebrows drew together in concern as John input the isolation code and the door opened. They stepped into the room, and the first thing the angel noticed was the unnamed Sentinel’s aura. While the man himself basked in divine, agape love, his aura told a tale of avarice, malice, and…

“Crowley, do you see that?” he asked quietly.

Crowley focused, looking at the man over his dark glasses. “He’s bursting with demonic energy. Now isn’t that interesting?”

“Demonic energy?” John asked, flummoxed.

“Hm.” Crowley tried to reach out with his senses, and found his way truly blocked. “Infected, sort of. By someone who clearly knows about my Guide abilities, which is somewhat concerning.”

“But not, I think, that I have become a Sentinel,” Aziraphale said slowly, his spine stiffening to ramrod straight. Crowley moved forward and laced his fingers through Aziraphale’s, a silent offer to lend grace. Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Sentinel,” he addressed the man. “What is your name?”

“I am Robert Smith, Alpha,” the man, Robert, replied. 

“And where do you live, Mr. Smith?” Aziraphale asked, gently.

“I lived in Southwark,” Robert said. “Oh, this feels so nice. What is this feeling, Alpha? Did you give it to me?”

“That is love, such as God has for all of humanity,” Aziraphale said softly, gathering knowledge about the Sentinel from the divine plane. “You’ve been searching for this for a long time, haven’t you, Mr. Smith?”

“Me mam, she made me to go church classes every Sunday.” Robert spoke dreamily. “All about Jesus and hellfire and damnation, floods and wickedness, the sins of Eve. I knew I had to resist the temptation.”

“And someone came to help you, didn’t they?” Aziraphale continued to speak softly. “Someone came to help you resist temptation?”

“My Bee helped me,” Robert said. “She helped me learn to resist the wickedness, to not give in to the sins of Eve.”

“When did you last see Bee, Mr. Smith?” Azirphale’s fingers tightened in Crowley’s, knowing the demon likely responsible for Mr. Smith’s state was Beelzebub.

“Last week,” Robert said. “She came to me and said God had a new purpose for me. I was to become a Sentinel. She said I would. And when I did, I would find God’s grace.” The man’s eyebrows furrowed. “But it didn’t give me grace. It hurt. The sounds, the smells.”

John’s phone beeped, and the doctor looked at it quickly, tapped out a quick text, and said, quietly, “What happened today, Robert?”

“I met a daughter of Eve.” Robert began to move restlessly. “I didn’t mean to. She tempted me! I’m supposed to resist!”

“Mr. Smith, did you know that this daughter of Eve was your Guide?” Aziraphale couldn’t quite see the answer. 

“She couldn’t have been!” The poor man cried out. “Bee told me she would be my Guide when the time came. That woman was an imposter. A fraud. She couldn’t have been my Guide!”

“Psychotic break,” John muttered, just loud enough for Aziraphale to hear. Unfortunately, Robert heard, too.

“”M not psychotic!” Robert panted, agitated, and Crowley drew Aziraphale back a full pace toward the door. “Bee promised!”

“Bee lied to you,” Aziraphale said gently. “That poor woman you found today was, in fact, your Guide.”

“Nooooo,” Robert cried out, and Aziraphale snapped his fingers, filling the room with agape love and keeping the man calm. “How could I have killed my own Guide? How? Why did Bee lie? Why didn’t she help me?”

“Bee is a demon,” Crowley said softly. “It is she who has been tempting you, and apparently has done for quite some time. She who wove protections against temptation, clever girl, and set you up to fail.”

“Why?” The anguish in the man’s tone could be felt palpably under the thick blanket of love enveloping the man. “Why?”

“And that’s the question, Mr. Smith,” Aziraphale said. “For now, however, I think I need to help you in another way.” He studied the Sentinel in front of him, then concentrated. Abruptly, the sense of presence often associated with Sentinels diminished. 

“What was that?” John asked quickly.

“I forced his Sentinel back into dormancy.” Aziraphale regarded the former Sentinel in front of him. “I recognize that might be a taboo, but I cannot allow someone this damaged to have these gifts.”

“An imperative?” Crowley asked quietly.

“Certainly feels like one.” Aziraphale straightened his waistcoat. “Have we enough information to be going on with?”

John opened his mouth, closed it, and turned to his mobile, tapping in a text that presumably updated Sherlock on happenings at the Center. He said nothing as he waited for a response.

Crowley idly noted that John’s shields had thickened to impenetrable, and admired the effort, though it meant nothing to Crowley, who could tell that John was well and truly taken aback at Aziraphale’s high-handedness. The only thing saving his angel from the lecture John ached to deliver, Crowley guessed, was the word ‘imperative.’ 

Sentinels and Guides of a certain level certainly knew about those.

John cleared his throat. “Robert, police will be here shortly to take you into custody. You might want to consider a full confession. Crimes against Guides such as the one you admitted to, in our presence, are taken very seriously and likely to result in punishments that reflect that. It’s rare that a Sentinel can even try to hurt a Guide, and I’ve never heard of a Sentinel that killed one, much less their own.”

Without the filter of his Sentinel senses, Robert looked high on divine love. Aziraphale pursed his lips, and mentally began to turn that down, to give the man time to adjust to feeling his own emotions. 

“New dial, I take it,” Crowley observed.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said briefly, then looked at his Guide. “We need to talk.”

“We do, yes.”

…

Aziraphale and Crowley remained silent as they followed John back up to the main office, holding hands to feel the connection to each other, but quite aware that the Alpha Guide was livid. 

Crowley squeezed his angel’s hand as they walked into John’s office, then let go and took a seat in one of the comfortable lounge chairs that fronted his desk. He sprawled like the serpent he still occasionally was, and casually said, “Have a seat, angel. The Alpha Guide thinks he can dictate what we do, and is dying to tell you off.”

“Tedious,” Aziraphale said crisply, then sat primly in the other chair. 

John stared.

“Do I have something on my face?” the angel asked.

“No, no,” John said. “It’s just you sounded just like Sherlock there.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said. “Does he get that way when he feels he’s about to endure a lecture upon a topic of which he already knows a great deal?”  
John sort of deflated as he sat in his own chair. “Right. Mind explaining?”

Aziraphale regarded him for a moment. “As a means of instruction, I don’t mind, I suppose.”

Crowley snorted. “You really don’t have to explain anything, angel. Earth’s Sentinel is likely to have imperatives the S&G Center don’t and can’t fully understand. I know that’s been the case for me.”  
“You’ve turned off senses just because you could?” John asked crisply.

“Of course,” Crowley confirmed. “Some who could go online as guides really, really shouldn’t. I made that a general directive a few millennia ago.”

At the abrupt reminder of the age of the two beings in front of him, John closed his eyes and breathed through his nose sharply. “Right.” He opened his eyes quickly. “Does that mean you’re responsible for dormancy?”

“Eh, responsible?” Crowley sort of pursed his lips and looked away. “I don’t know that I’d call it responsible.”

“Our own side, dear,” Aziraphale reminded him. “No need to deflect.”

Crowley scowled, both happy and a little pissed off at the reminder. “Fine. I’m responsible for unsuitable guides remaining unable to come online. Happy?”

John visibly thought about that for a moment. “Up until now,” he said slowly, “We’ve never seen a case of a dormant Sentinel coming online.” He turned to his computer and started typing at the keyboard. “Robert Smith. Three of them in London proper, one in Southwark. Ah, here. Dormant.”

Crowley began to straighten slowly. “Never another recorded dormant Sentinel going online? Ever?”

“Not that we know about,” John said, scrolling through a few screens and typing. “We can check with other centers, of course.”

“But no, that makes sense,” Aziraphale said, eyes razor sharp in the way that told Crowley he was thinking through a weighty problem. “Mother would have been keeping a close eye on Sentinels until her chosen could do so, so that’s now my task. Crowley, dear, how did you manage to make the dormancy for guides an imperative?”

Crowley undulated in his chair a bit, stretching ungainly limbs as he thought. “I thought, at the time, it was a demonic miracle,” he said slowly. “But now I wonder if it was divine.”

“It could be either,” Aziraphale said dismissively. “It isn’t as though Mother took all your divinity away. Can you remember what you did?”

Crowley remembered, with clarity, the young sociopathic Guide he’d stumbled across in Kiev and been forced to kill. He remembered the rage he’d felt at the act, the sheer waste of potential, and the utter despair that the Guide’s gifts could be so abused by those unsuited for them. “It was a miracle born of rage and despair, angel,” Crowley said. “I simply thought, ‘Those who would abuse these gifts shall not have them.’”

Aziraphale clearly gave that some thought as John kept still, allowing the discussion of the divine to take place without his input. 

“That course of action seems eminently reasonable,” Aziraphale said. He concentrated, then drew his arm down from the top of his head to his waist.

A flood of divine energy left him, and Crowley hastily jumped up and laid a hand on the back of Aziraphale’s neck to stabilize the Sentinel as the directive took place. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale said faintly. “That took a bit out of me.”

“Could you tell if any other dormant Sentinels were online?” John asked.

“No, no.” Aziraphale tried to concentrate again. “No. I can’t tell. This would have been the directive now, and for the future. I’m afraid sussing out those who should not have come online last week will have to be mundane work.”

“You can’t sense them?” Crowley asked.

“No, but I wonder if there’s a demonic reason for that.” Aziraphale looked at Crowley pointedly. “Bee may have been very, very busy, indeed.”

“They’re not really a bee, you know,” Crowley said diffidently, while subtly checking on the state of his Sentinel’s being in the wake of such a large miracle. “They’re more of a buzzing fly, really.”

“And somehow she knew to ward against ‘temptation,’” Aziraphale said. “Meaning you, the original tempter. Does she really know that you’re a Guide?”  
“Didn’t think so,” Crowley said. “Didn’t think anyone knew that, really.”

“I didn’t, though knowing what I do about you, I should have,” Aziraphale fretted.

“No one was to know.” Crowley pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s temple. “Mother’s own version of an imperative, I assume.”  
“So the question is does Bee know, or were they merely hoping to keep you out of their business?” Aziraphale said. 

“Only one way to find out, I suspect.” Crowley didn’t look forward to it.

“If we go, we’re going together,” Aziraphale said, firmly.

“Go where?” John asked.

The angel and demon looked at each other, and said, together, “Hell.”

**Part 6**

Aziraphale left John’s office, his Guide poised behind his left shoulder, at a measured pace. Agape love still flooded the building, but its presence seemed to keep his Guide-bait traits at bay, so he didn’t bother dimming it. 

The world could use a little more love.

Still, he kept up the appearance of nonchalance until he climbed into the Bentley, and let himself slump. Fatigue pulled at him, and he wondered, briefly, if he would fall asleep in the car.

“No, you don’t,” Crowley said softly from the driver’s seat, where he patted the Bentley’s dash and turned her on. “Wait until we’re out of sight of the cameras. Sherlock’s got a brother who’s a right security nightmare.”

Aziraphale hummed acknowledgement, and concentrated on keeping his eyes open as Crowley sped through London toward Soho and the bookshop.

Appearances, he knew, could be everything in a society guided by hierarchy.

Still, he wasn’t pleased with the effort it took to stay awake, and as they pulled up to the bookshop, he wondered if he’d even be able to get out of the car. Crowley, sensing his concern, waved at him to stay in his seat when they pulled out. “Hang on, angel.” He popped around to Aziraphale’s side and opened the door, reaching in to help him out and offering his knuckles a kiss. From any cameras, it would have appeared that Crowley was being gallant and romantic.

And, Aziraphale supposed, it truly was.

But the cameras couldn’t pick up the strength Crowley used to haul Aziraphale out of the car, then the minor miracle to keep him upright and walking into the shop without giving the game away.

Crowley led them into the shop, then picked up Aziraphale, bridal-style, and carried him up the stairs to the second-floor flat, and their cozy bedroom. He set Aziraphale on his feet and drew back the sheets and duvet before busily setting to unbuttoning the angel’s shirt.

“You don’t have to undress me,” Aziraphale mumbled. “I can do it.”

“Ah, but I like to,” Crowley purred out, nipping at Aziraphale’s earlobe before pushing the shirt off his shoulders and moving his hands to his belt.

Aziraphale hummed with contentment, and Crowley managed to get the angel’s pants, socks and shoes off before guiding him into bed.

“Stay with me?” Aziraphale’s word slurred together.

“Always, love.” Crowley divested himself of his own clothes and laid a hand on the building wall. “Keep us safe, will you?”  
A pulse of love and resolve greeted him.

“Thanks.” He patted the wall, then crawled into bed and curled up with Aziraphale, who was already sleeping.

…

Crowley woke up feeling decidedly female. It happened that way, sometimes, and as he stretched, he rolled his spine and made his body match. For fun, she lengthened her hair to just pass her shoulders, letting it curl, and gave herself a set of lovely breasts.

“Oh, well,” he heard Airaphale say from his spot next to him, “Good morning, Ms. Crowley.”

“Ashtoreth instead of Anthony today, I think,” Crowley purred back. “Good morning to you, too.” She turned to curl into Aziraphale’s side, letting the angel drape an arm over her. “Feeling better?”

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale assured her, stroking his hand through her hair. “Tip-top. Absolutely tickety-boo.”  
“Yeah?” She gave that same little undulating shimmy along his side, letting her knee gently graze the underside of his cock. “Well enough to see to me?”

Aziraphale set the book he had in his other hand down, then flipped her onto her back and settled between her legs. “Of course.” He kissed her gently; then, he lazily moved his lips down her jaw to her neck, settling over the tender spot where her neck met her shoulder to nip and kiss. The sensation made her groan, and she stretched again, reveling in the feel of her skin against his. She snapped her fingers, and Aziraphale’s boxers were gone. “Cheating,” Aziraphale mumbled into her neck, but she could hear the smile in the tone.

“Demon,” she pointed out breathlessly, enjoying his chuckle as he worked his way down to the breasts she’d manifested. He hummed appreciatively as he took one nipple into his mouth, gently sucking it to a peak while tweaking the other nipple with his fingers, making her squirm.

“Angel,” Crowley said breathlessly, “put your mouth on my pussy, would you?”

Aziraphale laughed silently against her nipple, but obediently slid down Crowley’s body to spread her legs and place a kiss at the top of her mons. “Here?” he asked innocently.

“Bit further down, if you please.” She tried to push his head, but he was unmoved. He lightly licked her outer labia. 

“Here?” Blue eyes twinkled at her scowl.

“Angel!”

“Perhaps, here?” Aziraphale began to lick lightly around her clit.

“Perhaps a bit harder!” Crowley hissed, then groaned as her angel finally, finally, began sucking her clit, then gave her one finger to clench on. She was tight, as he’d suspected she might be, having newly manifested her female bits. But she was also soft, and wet, and he almost immediately gave her another finger.

Clenching around two of his thick fingers, she began to tremble as he backed off her clit to stroke it with his thumb and lave the lovely pink skin around it, dipping down to taste where his fingers entered her. 

“Angel, angel, please!”

He crooked his fingers up, sucked on her clit, and she came, hard. He gentled her through the waves pleasure with gentle strokes of his fingers, until she gave a low hiss, and said, “Get in me, Angel.”

Aziraphale knelt up, put his cock to her entrance, and pushed home. Crowley hissed again, but wrapped her long legs around her Sentinel so that he’d press himself over her. She began crooning in her angel’s ear as he thrust into her.

“That’s it,” she groaned. “All for me, angel, all for me.”  
“Always, my dearest heart,” Aziraphale panted, close to reaching his own peak. “ _Always_.” Divine love swept from his body as he let himself go, taking Crowley over the edge with him one more time. 

As he came down, Aziraphale tucked his face into her neck. For long moments, they rested, Aziraphale still snug within her.

Finally, Crowley broke the silence. “I’m going to guess a fair amount of your neighbors just had involuntary orgasms.”

“Well, good morning to them, too,” Aziraphale mumbled, blushing.

Crowley laughed, and laughed.

…

“Seriously,” Crowley said as she turned to give Aziraphale a glimpse of skin and an undone zipper, “you need to get a handle on that divine-love-at-orgasm thing. People will notice, and it’s a bit invasive, love.”

Aziraphale zipped her up, admiring the lean lines of her back as he did so. The dark grey cashmere clung to her new curves, which were further accented by long, slim legs, dressed in black hose and high, red heels. She’d left her hair down and tousled, but used a bright shade of red lipstick that matched the heels. She looked dangerous.

Aziraphale loved it.

“It didn’t happen the last time,” Aziraphale protested mildly. He let his hands linger at her neck, then lifted her hair to kiss her nape, just to please himself. 

“The last time, you were …. Oh.” Crowley turned around and put her arms around Aziraphale’s neck. “When I’m in control, you’re less likely to let that unleash. Well, so far, anyway.”

Aziraphale tilted his head, thinking. “When we were in Eden, you primarily manifested female.”

Crowley nodded along. “And you used the divine love and energy when you came to create Eden.” She kissed his cheek, then leaned back and used one hand to rub the bit of lipstick that had transferred off. “Your body, when confronted with female me, thinks ‘creation,’ and does its best to make that happen.”

“But we’re not capable of creating children together, are we?” Aziraphale asked, suddenly concerned.

“There’s no precedent, no,” Crowley admitted. “Angels, though.”

“The nephilim,” Aziraphale whispered, and paled.

Crowley didn’t pale, interestingly enough, but considered it. “We could try, I suppose, but I assume I’d need to be female for the duration. I do think, with us, it would need to be purposeful. And probably involve wings. And a lot of planning.”

“God’s blessing,” Aziraphale murmured.

“Which, if we’re allowed to procreate, we would already have,” Crowley pointed out. “No point in fussing.”

“Right.” Aziraphale kissed her, and drew back himself. “I guess we’ll call this ineffable.”

Crowley rolled her eyes, then picked up the Louis Vuitton handbag she’d found in her miraculously deep section of the closet, and gestured her Sentinel forward. “I can tell you that no demon has ever managed to procreate with another demon.”

“Yes, but none of them were you, who has grace, imagination, and creativity,” Aziraphale pointed out as he followed her down into the shop and out the front door to the Bentley. He got into the passenger seat as she gave that some thought. “If a child is something you want, I think we could probably manage it, given the time to figure it out.”

“Let’s think about it,” Crowley said as she pulled out into traffic. “Right now, we’ve got a trip to Hell to plan.”

“Do you really think it’s going to be necessary?” Aziraphale asked. “Could we just summon her?”

“Beelzebub is a Duke of Hell, angel, as you know.” Crowley deftly changed lanes and shouted at the window at a pedestrian, who gave her a two-fingered salute. “I know her sigil, but she’ll have warded against its use, I’m sure. She might be expecting us, but I do think we need to go and bring this discussion to her.”  
“Why would she interfere with Sentinels?” Aziraphale wondered. “And why guard against you?”  
“Well, the interfering-with-Sentinels part is easy,” Crowley said. “Standing order from Lucifer, actually. Mess them about as often as possible. He likes collecting them in Hell, but since so many have been seen as incorruptible, and as Mother has apparently been keeping those who would abuse those gifts from actually getting them, they’re a particularly rare soul.”

“So it could just be standard practice, then.” Azirphale pondered that. “Target Sentinels who have some sort of weakness that can be exploited, and hope they come online to do bad deeds for hell.”

“Could be.” Crowley whipped into a spot by the front curb of the S&G Center. “Likely, even. And I’m on record with hell as saying targeting Sentinels is a big waste of time.”

“High investment, low payoff.” Aziraphale got out of the Bentley and came around to offer Crowley his hand and help her out of the car. The gesture wasn’t necessary, but was appreciated, and old-fashioned manners never went amiss, Aziraphale thought.

Crowley clearly agreed, as she stood on her precariously high heels and tucked her arm though Aziraphale’s. “Oh, coffee,” she said, and snapped her fingers. A fragrant bag of pastries and a drinks carrier with four large cups appeared on top of the car. “Get that, will you, please?”

Aziraphale obligingly balanced the bag on top of the coffees with one hand, then picked the whole thing up to bring it inside. 

The pair made their way to the door, and Aziraphale caught sight of their reflection in the black glass. He saw a beautiful redhead on the arm of a dapper-looking blond gent, and it made him smile.

“What?” Crowley asked, smiling a bit herself.

Aziraphale nodded toward the glass. “We’re a picture,” he said.

“I guess we are,” she said, and her smile widened. “We should take a selfie.”  
“Here and now?” Aziraphale asked, but he was tickled she’d want one.

“Here and now,” Crowley said decisively, and let go of his arm to dig her phone out of her bag. 

Aziraphale smiled fondly at her as she went through the bag to dig up the phone, then held it out in front of them, hitting the icon to turn the camera front-facing. “Scoot in,” she said, and Aziraphale ducked a little to see the pair of them framed in the screen. He smiled, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, and snapped the photo.

“There we are,” Crowley said. “It’s lovely. I’m having that one framed.”

“Crowley, darling,” Aziraphale said, looking at her.

“Yes, angel?” She looked up at him.

“I love you.”

She kissed the tip of his nose. “I love you, too.”

There was a bit of a stir throughout the lobby when the pair crossed it to head to John’s office, and John himself took one look at the currently female form of the Serpent of Eden and gave a low whistle. “Tempter, yeah,” he muttered. “Seeing it now.”

Aziraphale smirked, not at all put out by John’s observation, and Crowley just put an extra bit of saunter into her step.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Right.” He gestured to the newly arrived couple. “Have a seat if you don’t mind. John tells me you plan to go to…” Sherlock hesitated as if even contemplating the word and its potential meaning physically hurt him. “Hell.”

“It’s the only way to be sure,” Crowley said, enjoying the waves of disbelief/irritation/incredulity that rolled off the Alpha Sentinel. “We think we know the demon responsible for corrupting Mr. Smith, and we need to know if they corrupted others. Even how far back it goes. Until Aziraphale came online, potentially corrupt Sentinels never came online, and the demon who could manage to corrupt one would permanently gain Lucifer’s favor.”

“Something,” Aziraphale added with a faraway look, “that the demon in question would need about now.”

“I imagine Lucifer is on a tear, given that his son denied his very existence and stopped the Apocalypse,” Crowley agreed. “Bee would be right in the crossfire there.”

“And she couldn’t punish you for it.” Aziraphale tilted his head in the way that told Crowley he was thinking. “At any rate, we need to know what she knows, and how often she’s tried this scheme.”

“Do you want to know what happened to Robert Smith?” John asked.

Aziraphale shrugged. “With his Sentinel senses stripped away, he’s no longer a threat. I will leave his fate in mundane hands. Mine is to protect the whole of Earth, and Earth’s Sentinels and Guides.” He nodded to his Guide. “Crowley and I will see to the Divine.”

“I am curious, though,” Crowley interjected. “What did happen?”

“He’s being interviewed by a team of psychiatrists,” Sherlock said briefly. “They all agree that this ‘Bee’ had a hand in pushing him over the edge, but that he already likely had some diminished capacity. He should never have come online.”

“That will be something to watch out for,” Aziraphale told Sherlock. “I made it so no other potentially corrupt Sentinels will gain their senses, but any who came online in that week Crowley and I were bonding, when Mother had lifted her own directive and I did not yet know enough to make one, would be susceptible to corruption.”

“Wonderful.” Sherlock’s sarcasm sounded like acid to Aziraphale, and he winced.

“Sorry?” the angel offered.

Sherlock just sighed, and John jumped in. “It’s fine. He loves a good puzzle. And now we know. Will you tell us what you find out on your, er. Trip.”

Crowley gave a slow grin, one that showed all of her teeth, “Of course.”

Aziraphale stood, and held a hand out to his Guide. “Shall we, then?”

“Yes, let’s.” Crowley took the hand her Sentinel offered, and they waved as they left, leaving the pastries and coffee behind. They headed out to the Bentley, and Crowley paused before she got in the car. “Straight to hell, then, angel?”

Aziraphale looked up at her over the top of the car. “Straight to hell, dearheart.”

They got in, and the Bentley roared as they headed to the corporate building that denoted the entrance to both heaven and hell.

...

Aziraphale pursed his lips as he looked at the escalators. “I’ve never gone down before,” he said. “They took me down a different way when I was… Er. Well. This should be interesting.”

Crowley gave an unamused laugh. “Interesting is one word for it.” She paused at the top of the escalator. “Take the signs seriously.”

“Signs?” Aziraphale asked, tucking in behind her for a change as they stepped off onto the moving stairs. 

“Really. Don’t lick the walls, they’re poison,” Crowley advised.

 _Don’t lick the walls,_ Aziraphale mouthed incredulously as he started looking around and cataloging what he could with his newly enhanced senses. 

Scent: Oil, damp and rot, faint hints of sulfur. 

Sound: A low hum, building like an insect swarm, underpinned with screams.

Sight: The sunlight of the atrium snuffed out a third of the way down, and the dingy grey walls of pitted stone and patched concrete seemed to suck all the light they could as the couple continued the journey downward. An enormous poster warning viewers not to lick the walls came into view just as they reached the bottom.

“Ah,” Aziraphale said. Taste was out, then. Just as well.

But touch. He grazed his fingers against one dark pitted wall, and shuddered.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t do that much, angel,” Crowley said, miracling up a bottle of plain, unscented hand sanitizer and passing over. “Poison, remember? Especially effective on beings of grace such as yourself. You might also want to dampen that a bit more, at least for the moment.”

“Right,” Aziraphale said, making liberal use of the sanitizer and stowing it in the ether, to be called back as necessary. He dialed down Grace, Love, and Compulsion, but stood ready to bring them all back up in blink if necessary. He glanced at the pitted floor. “Those heels a good idea down here?”

Crowley shrugged. “Never worried about it too much, I guess.” She snapped her fingers, and her lovely grey cashmere shift dress now layered over black leggings and combat boots. “To ease your mind on it, Sentinel.”

“Thank you for indulging me, Guide,” Aziraphale said dryly. They started walking down a dim corridor, faintly lit by a single fluorescent bulb, and the angel wrinkled his nose at the scent of the ooze that had begun to appear on the walls. He likewise dialed down Scent. “What is that?”

“Sulphur and the blood of the damned,” Crowley said absently, well used to it. 

Aziraphale said nothing, but as the screams of the damned began to get louder, he also turned down Sound. He followed Crowley through a series of doors to a dimly lit office in which sat a broken Formica table staffed by a one-eyed demon wearing rags. 

“Crowley and friend to see Lord Beelzebub,” Crowley said firmly.

“No appointments today,” the demon, who appeared to be a receptionist of some sort, said in a monotone.

“She’ll see us,” Crowley said confidently. “We’ve got great news from Earth.”

The receptionist didn’t change expressions. “No appointments today.”

“We’ll just see ourselves in, then,” Crowley said, and dragged Aziraphale past the receptionist with haste to burst in through the door behind them. 

Wisely, Aziraphale said nothing, trusting his demon to know best how to get into see his old Boss. He rather thought it likely that the “no appointments today” line might just be a permanent order. He allowed Crowley to drag him through a wooden door that hitched when Crowley slammed through it.

“Beez! My old friend ...ly acquaintance,” Crowley called out as they burst into a dank, small room. Creaky grey file cabinets lined the walls, some with papers stuffed in any which way, and an aged coffeemaker stood on top of one, a cracked mug next to it. At the room’s center, sitting at a heavy-duty, banged-up aluminum desk, the demon Lord Beelzebub looked up, unimpressed.

“Demon Crowley, you are no longer welcome in Hell,” they said, flies buzzing about their head. “Get out before I make you.”  
“Aw, Beez, is that any way to treat an old mate who brings you good news?” Crowley hissed the last word, the sibilant echoes of the “s” competing with the buzzing flies. “You’ve managed to corrupt a Sentinel, you clever thing.”

“Really?” Beelzebub perked up, then slumped. “Right. You’re lying.”

“Oh, no, not at all.” Crowley prowled around behind the demon lord. “He came online last week, then promptly murdered his Guide when he found them yesterday. Quite certain he’ll be in hell within the decade.”

“Finally!” Beelzebub shrieked. “Finally!”

Aziraphale’s tone was deceptively cool. “How many have you attempted to corrupt to destruction?”

“None of your business, _Angel_.” The word was spoken as if it was an epithet. “Don’t you have a celestial harmony to sing, or something?”

“Ssurely you want to brag a bit?” Crowley hissed some more, still prowling around the desk. “Tell us how you managed it. You know you won’t get recognition for it anywhere else.”

“Satan will reward me for managing it, finally,” Beelzebub said. “Centuries I’ve been trying. A word here, a word there. None of them ever managed to come online and bring me glory, though.”

“How many?” Aziraphale asked again, quietly. “How many Sentinels have you corrupted?”

“Lost track ages ago.” Beelzebub shrugged, unconcerned.

“Recently?” Crowley asked. “How many up there right now have you been whispering to?”

“A fair few,” the demon lord admitted. “I was hoping to corrupt them to fight with us at the end of the world.” They sneered. “But you ended that, and didn’t have the decency to die when you were supposed to.”

“A fair few,” Aziraphale echoed. He started to feel something burn in his core. He turned up the Compulsion dial. “ _How many living Sentinels or potential Sentinels have you tried to corrupt?”_

“Six hundred and sixty-six!” Beelzebub shouted, then covered their mouth, appalled.

“The sign of the devil,” Crowley whispered. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“To please him,” Beelzebub said, whispering through their fingers. “To please Satan.”

“ _Say their names!”_ Aziraphale compelled them.

Blood began to run from Beelzebub’s nose, in thick and gluey black globs. “I can’t,” they pleaded. “I didn’t bother getting them.”

“Aziraphale, she’s not lying,” Crowley said. “She corrupted because she could. She doesn’t know their names, and couldn’t tell us even if she wanted to.”

Aziraphale’s face lit with the power of his Grace, and his flaming sword seemed to appear out of nowhere. It slapped into his hand with a crack, and he allowed the burning feeling in his core to spread. “Thou art a threat to Earth!” With one swing, the flaming sword cleaved the demon’s head from their body, and it rolled to rest in a corner. One beat, then two, and Aziraphale let the room fill with Love.

The demon’s body dissolved.

Crowley crossed to her Sentinel, and gently guided his face to look at her. “Bee is gone, Sentinel. This threat has passed. Dial it down, love. Dial it down.”

With effort, Aziraphale reigned himself in, turning his dials back down. He stowed the sword, and looked at Crowley, who’d removed his own sunglasses and was looking intently into his Sentinel’s face. “Hello.” He said it softly. “Are you alright?”

“I do believe I’m immune to the love whammy,” Crowley said, stroking Aziraphale’s face. “Perhaps because I’ve acquired an exposure immunity.”

“Or, perhaps, because you’re mine,” Aziraphale said quietly, and kissed her, gently.

Crowley allowed herself to be kissed for a long minute before she drew back. “Yours. And, if I’m honest, this is the last place I’d want to make out with you, angel. No offense meant.”

“None taken,” Aziraphale said. “Lead the way out?”

“Of course,” Crowley said, and guided Aziraphale through the reception room, where a pile of rags lay on the floor. Crowley regarded it for a minute. “How much of a love whammy was that, angel?”

“No idea,” Aziraphale said, likewise looking at the pile of rags. “This is all new to me.”

“Perhaps we should leave quickly, then?” Crowley said, walking a bit faster.

“Yes, yes,” Aziraphale agreed. “Probably a good idea.”

They hastened through the pitted doors and tunnels, meeting no one. Occasionally they saw another pile of clothing, and zipped right past it. Blood no longer seeped from the walls, and as they turned the corner to the corridor that led to the escalator, Crowley noticed that the glisten that indicated poison also was missing.

“Are you noticing this?” Crowley asked, her voice low and quiet. 

“I’m smelling and scenting it, too,” Aziraphale said. “On this level, anyway, there’s nothing. Though I can still hear the screams of the damned if I focus.”

“They still need a place to go,” Crowley murmured. “Up we get, love.”  
They took the escalator up, Crowley looking back to make certain they weren’t followed. As they cleared the midway point, Aziraphale looked up to spy a glow from the atrium.

“What now?” he asked himself, and when Crowley turned, Aziraphale gestured up. Crowley saw the glow, and shrugged.

As they got to the top, they saw the Archangel Gabriel with an armed company of angels at his back. Aziraphale raised both eyebrows and looked at his old boss, who looked back with a stony face.

“Something you needed, Gabriel?” Aziraphale asked politely.

“We’ve gotten word through back channels that something has just destroyed a number of demons in the uppermost parts of Hell,” Gabriel said briefly. “I came down to see if you needed help.”  
Aziraphale eyed him. “I have it well in hand, thank you.”

Gabriel nodded, then made a sharp signal to the angels at his back, who retreated up their own escalator. “If you need me, I’ll come.”

“Gabe,” Crowley said. “Thanks.”

The Archangel nodded, then followed his company.

Crowley and Aziraphale held hands as they went out to the Bentley.

“Not all gone, then,” Crowley said, as he took the wheel.

“No,” Aziraphale agreed. “And I’d guess we need someone to look after the souls of the damned.”

“And there’s no need to test humans to destruction, not anymore,” Crowley said, firmly. “I won’t have it.”  
“Nor will I,” Aziraphale assured him. “I think we’ve just delivered that lesson. Mother gave humanity free will through you, and they shall keep it. What they do with it from here will be their doing entirely.”

**Part 7**

The Bentley pulled up to the curb of the S & G Center, its bass thumping with the beats of “Another One Bites the Dust.” Crowley privately thought it was a little too on point, but at least it had style.

“How do you not get a ticket when you park there?” John wondered out loud as the angel and demon made their way into the Center. 

“Just lucky, I guess,” Crowley said as she shrugged. She winked at John, then snapped her fingers to restore her hose and heels. “There, better.”

John blinked, then visibly decided not to address the miracle in front of him before nodding them back to his office. “Right, we’ll just. Ah. Through there.”

Aziraphale failed to suppress his own smug grin as he followed his Guide through to John’s office, where Sherlock stood looking out through the plate glass window that overlooked the Thames.

“Well?” the detective asked briskly.

Aziraphale took a seat, and Crowley dropped herself in his lap. “The demon responsible has been ended. Before they died, we were able to discover that the demon currently had six hundred and sixty-six potentially corrupt Sentinels to which they’d been whispering. I suppose we can subtract Mr. Smith, so that means we need to be on guard for the remaining six hundred and sixty-five.”

“I presume you mean the S&G Centers need to be on guard for the remaining number?” Sherlock said, a trace of sarcasm in his tone. “As you are outside our hierarchy? And do you have names? Locations?”

“Nothing like that, no,” Aziraphale said. “They didn’t have names to give. They think of all of humanity as so many ants.”  
Crowley interjected. “My Sentinel beheaded the demon with a flaming sword and ended their existence totally. The wave of Love he released ended the existence of many demons today. This is a win for humanity.”

“And yet we do not know where the next threats are coming from,” Sherlock pointed out. 

John came forward and laid a hand on his Sentinel’s arm. “We can set a worldwide alert. Inform them of the problem. And frankly, a Guide can detect the kind of shielding Robert had. I could, now. I’m also certain that Aziraphale will make himself available to manage these Sentinels if they become problems.”

“Of course I will,” Aziraphale said. “I feel a bit responsible, even if I didn’t know the circumstances.”

“And will you come for training?” Sherlock turned and looked fully at the pair for the first time since they entered the room. “Will you come and let us help you determine the full scope of your gifts?”

“Can you promise such knowledge will remain secret?” Aziraphale asked calmly. “I have divine gifts that no human Sentinel could ever hope to attain. Will that knowledge be held in trust? Because I have to warn you, Crowley and I have spent centuries concealing what we are. With one miracle, right now, I can take your memory of this entire encounter from you.”

“But you won’t,” John said quietly, “because you know that doing so would endanger others.”

“It appears we are at an impasse,” Crowley observed. “How about a compromise? You two, no others, may help us find Aziraphale’s limits. Those limits do not become human knowledge. This is for our safety.”

“But if you are an angel, and a demon, you cannot die,” Sherlock said. “Is that not true?”

“We can be ended,” Aziraphale answered softly. “We can be ended, we can be tortured, if we are bound. We can be hurt. And humanity would lose one of its greatest assets.”

Silence fell. After a moment, Crowley spoke softly. “If it helps, you should know that not even two weeks ago, my Sentinel and I stood between humanity and Satan himself to stop Armageddon before it could occur. We thought it would be our final stand, and it brought Aziraphale online. His role on Earth was planned, and I think we’ll need him, sooner or later. We’re immortal. We’re not going anywhere. And we do have a place to which we can retreat.”

“Eden,” Aziraphale muttered.

“Precisely so,” Crowley agreed. He turned back to Sherlock. “Send us books. If we need practice, we can go to Eden and practice. We could even take you along. But keep us out of mundane affairs unless we’re absolutely needed, for now.”

“We could make it happen,” Aziraphale said. “But we already agreed that we would no longer stand for interfering in human affairs in such a way that you could corrupt or destroy yourselves. You have free will. And you are talented, marvelous human beings. You can manage.”

“I do not have time for existential debates about the nature of humanity and God,” Sherlock spit out. “If God exists, why …”

“...why anything, really?” Crowley picked up the thread of thought. “Such questions drove me to fall from Heaven. I heard it likened to a great card game once, a card game to which no one knew the rules and half the cards were missing. In the end, though, it’s nothing that can be known, really. It’s Her game. And She gave us, Aziraphale and me, to humanity to protect it. We’ll do our best. But as for the rest?”

“It’s ineffable,” Aziraphale sighed.

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have a headache.”

“Sorry?” Aziraphale offered.

“Thanks, gents, for helping us out here,” John said. “We’ll be in touch. For now, I think I should get Sherlock a cuppa and you should go and take a break, yeah?”

Crowley grinned. “Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry, is it?”

“We’ve got six hundred and sixty five potentially dangerous Sentinels to track down, so, yes, unless you can help, get out.” Sherlock gestured to the front door.

“We can really do no more than you would, no,” Crowley said as she stood up and held a hand out to Aziraphale, who took it and pulled himself to standing, retaining her hand. “But if you find one, we can help contain him or her.”

“We’ll keep that in mind, and if you get any clues yourselves, do let us know,” John said, shooing them out the door to the main office. The pair looked at each other from the space in the hall by the lobby, then, as one, shrugged and walked through the lobby, ignoring the Guides who were giving Aziraphale sultry looks.

They got in the Bentley, and Crowley turned to Aziraphale. “Can I tempt you to a spot of lunch?” she asked.

“Temptation accomplished!” Aziraphale said. “I think a table for two just opened up at the Ritz.”

The old racing car hummed as she entered traffic, and “Don’t Stop Me Now” blared through the speakers.

  
  
  
  



End file.
